


Have you seen this Cat?

by Marmottine



Series: A story of a Cat and a Bat [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Cat School (The Witcher), Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), F/M, Family, Mention of Child Abuse, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Slight blood drinking, The Witcher Lore, Witcher Contracts, Witcher training, and wine drinking, witcher life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmottine/pseuds/Marmottine
Summary: Moira, a female witcher, is on her way to the land of Toussaint, following a invitation. The festive event will be the occasion to make new friends and to remember her own path as a witcher.Main themes: Witcher School, Witcher life, RomanceMain characters: Regis and OCs. Some apparitions of Ciri and Geralt (and others).





	1. Letters

_Flovive village, Toussaint duchy, May 16_ _th_ _1277_

 

That late afternoon, in the village of Flovive, was apparently usual to all the others. The May sun, already hot in this land, had hit hard all day long and had made work difficult for the village workers, who had regularly stopped to mop their brow, sweating, and took the opportunity to drink. By this time the inhabitants had finished their day's work and relaxed, each in their own way. Many had decided to go to the lake, enjoying the coolness of the light breeze that provided the body of water and the splendid view of Beauclair, on the other shore. Several cheerful discussions could be heard and several bottles of wine could be seen, Toussaint wine of course, circulating between the inhabitants.

At the end of the village, on the side of the neighbouring wood, a villager seemed to have trouble to join this relaxed mood. This man, features marked by age, black hair streaked with whites, kept rising from the pontoon on which he waited, to take a few steps, constantly glancing towards the wood. At last, he thought he saw something move between the trees at the edge. His view was not really what it used to be and he had to wait until the thing he saw is getting closer. His tense face relaxed a little as he recognized the woman he was waiting for. He was keen to hear that this woman had to say to him, but he avoided going to meet her. He did not particularly want to be alone with her, she made him feel uncomfortable, and preferred to wait until she came to him, to the village, surrounded by other inhabitants.

When the dean of the village, what is what he was, had met this woman that very morning, he had at first thought of a joke. He was talking to one of the villagers about the progress of building a new well when he heard a woman's voice behind him.

"Are you Orvat? I come for the contract."

Orvat had turned around to see who dared interrupt him, the dean, especially a simple woman. Indeed, in front of him stood a woman, there was no doubt, but he had never seen a woman dressed like that. The stranger, of medium height, was dressed in a leather cuirass, studded, sleeveless. Under this cuirass, she wore a blue linen shirt. His forearms and hands were protected by studded leather gauntlets, without fingers. He saw a leather band slung over his shoulder, obviously holding two long swords on her back, from he could see protruding the pommels. Orvat quickly looked down and saw that the woman was also wearing blue cloth trousers, reinforced on the sides with wide strips of brown leather. His light leather boots were tightly fitted to her legs by belts. He looked up and wanted to look at the woman's face, but she was wearing a hood that hid the upper part of her face. The woman sighed when she saw her interlocutor staring at her without answering her question and pulled up her hood.

The dean jumped when he saw the woman's eyes. Two cat eyes, yellow with vertical pupils, stared at him. When she opened her mouth, he did not pay attention to what she was saying to him, he came back to his senses as she stepped forward, showing him the note she was holding right in front of his eyes.

"My name is Moira, I am a witcher. I come for the contract for the forktail, I found this note on the billboard at the entrance of the village. Are you the dean of Flovive? "

"Huh? Yes it's me but ... How can you be a witcher? You are a woman! " Moira stared at him without saying anything, waited a little for him to calm down.

_It will never change…_ , she thought.

For decades she had going on the Path, she had met too often this situation to react. Over the years, she had understood that it was useless to explain, even less to get upset.

"Yes, I am definitely a woman. And again yes, I am a witcher. According to this note, you have a monster problem to solve. I propose you to solve it, in return for remuneration. Now please, give me more details about what happened here and let me do my job. "

The man did not strike back and gave her the details of the monsters that had been attacking them for a few days, and the place of the last attack. By provocation, he exaggerated the details of the wounds inflicted on the dead bodies, thinking to be able to scare this young woman. Moira not only did not seem disgusted but instead asked more details, with a neutral tone. When they had finished discussing and agreeing on a price - which he would pay only after the result, of course the woman put on her hood and left without adding anything.

Orvat was relieved of her departure. During all the time of their exchange, he had not been comfortable, especially when his eyes crossed hers. For him, the place of a woman was at home or at farm work, not on the road dressed as a warrior with two impressive swords barring her back. He glanced one last time at this stranger, who had just detached her horse, a grey mare, and got back into the saddle.

When Moira was close enough to the dean, he noticed something swaying on the side of her mare, held in the saddle by an impressive metal hook. He took a moment to understand that it was a bloody head of a forktail, open mouth letting appear its many yellow fangs and a scarlet red tongue hanging. His eyes remained fixed by this monster's head until Moira stopped in front of him, took the head and throw it at his feet. The dean stepped back suddenly, trying to avoid the repulsive hunting trophy and the droplets of blood.

"This is your beast, it will not cause you trouble anymore. There were actually two, a couple, who had nested north of the Sansretour marsh. Do not worry, they had not made any cubs yet, and I destroyed the nest. Normally I should ask you for a supplement for the second monster, but I will not make you pay for it."

The dean stammered a thank you, before seizing the purse at his belt. He counted a few coins and approached Moira, making a wide detour to stay away from the monster's head. She was recounting the coins carefully when the dean interrupted her.

"Miss, please tell me, don't you mind ... taking that with you?"

Moira looked up and saw his embarrassed look, eyes turned to the ground again.

"No it does not bother me, I'll take it. I'm invited somewhere, it will be a perfect gift for my host. Stuffed and hanging on the wall, I'm sure that would look stunning. »

Seeing the half-disgusted, half-horrified air he threw at her, Moira could not help but have a small, mocking smile. She added:

"I would just ask you if you would be so kind as to point me out the way to the Corvo Bianco estate. "

The dean told her willingly, too happy not to have had to pay more than expected and to be able to get rid of the witcher. Moira picked up the monster head, which she hung up on her saddle and mounted her mare. When the dean watched her go, under the grazing light of the late afternoon drawing gigantic and monstrous shadows on her side, he thought:

_A woman witcher. What do you say about that! When I'll tell that to the buddies ..._

 

* * *

  _Dillingen town, Brugge kingdom, December 1276_

 

"When do you think it will be ready, Varen? "

"Come back at the end of the week, your equipment will be like new, I assure you, master witcher," replied a man with muscular forearms, that could be guessed under a thick cloak. When he answered Moira, a puff of vapour came out of his mouth.

"I do not doubt it, I've never been disappointed in your work, master armourer," Moira replied, smiling.

After saying good bye, Moira went on her way, walking quietly down the cobbled streets of the city. Despite the cold, it was not snowing yet, but the wind was icy, the gusty winds seemed to tear your ears and fingertips if you ever had the bad idea not to cover them. Moira was happily covered, a very long cape covered her body to the ankles, fur-adorned the hood that covered her head. She turned at one moment to leave the main street, to pass under a vault, opening on the small courtyard paved of a stone house. Clinging to the vault, visible from the main street, a sign of wood bore the symbol of surgeons.

In the courtyard, Moira met a couple coming out of a wide wooden door on her left. The man had a livid complexion and was advancing slowly with a crutch. His wife, in better shape visibly, offered him her arm to help him support himself. They exchanged a brief nod, but Moira did not stop at that door. She continued to walk to the end of the courtyard, which ended in a stone wall about the height of a man, pierced by a gate giving access to the other side, a small garden. Moira turned to the left and climbed a stone staircase outside, which led to the entrance to the first floor of the house.

Once inside Moira appreciated the warmth of the fireplace, which contrasted divinely with the outside temperatures. She hung her wide cloak at the door-coat of the entrance, empty at this moment. She went to the kitchen on the left to prepare an infusion. She returned to the entrance, a steaming cup in her hands, and noted some envelopes on the wooden secretary who was on the right of the main door, along the wall, lit by a window with frosted glasses.

Moira quickly scanned the addresses, all addressed to the same person, and it was not her. That did not surprise her, after all she lived here only a small part of the time, and she had hardly any correspondents anyway. Moira left the mail there and climbed the only step that led to a large room, slightly elevated. A dark wood floor adorned the entire floor, many libraries adorned the walls. The ceiling, inclined, married the shape of the roof of the house. The broad beams of the roof were an integral part of the room and gave it a certain charm. It was warm and sober, conducive to reflection, it was undoubtedly the home of a scholar.

The witcher liked the house, she felt immediately at ease the first time she came there, some years ago. Since then, the decoration and furniture had changed very little, only a few bestiary books had since enriched the libraries, a weapon holder adorned the entrance, and a mirror was hung in the only bedroom.

In the far left, the room had a recess, where Moira went directly. This was her favourite part of the house, this recess created a secluded spot, bathed in light passing that part of the wall, made of large glass tiles. Several medicinal plants were arranged near this wall and took advantage of the sunshine without fearing frost, unlike other plants of the same kind, but more robust, planted in the garden outside.

Comfortably seated in a chair backing one of the panelled walls, Moira let herself go for a moment, her gaze on the ceiling above her. Straightening up suddenly, she grabbed a sheet of paper she had in her pocket, went to fetch a pen and an inkwell, and went back to work to start writing. Concentrated, she stopped later when she heard the sound of the front door opening. Hastily, she put the pen down, closed the inkwell and put the unfinished letter in her pocket, before getting up and heading for the main room.

Regis was opening the letters Moira had seen earlier, sitting at his desk at a corner of the main room. Moira approached him and leaned against the desk, snapping fingers to light the candles on the piece of wood. Certainly, she knew that her companion did not need that to read the letters, but she herself enjoyed having light. She let him finish reading the mail without saying anything, just observing him.

She loved those moments when she could watch him as long as she wanted, studying his face, his expressions, without him paying attention to her. One of the letters seemed to delight him, she saw his eyes shine and a grin spread on his face, and by snowball effect on her own face too.

"It's been a long time since I've seen a letter to please you so much, Regis. Who is it? Dettlaff news, finally? "

Regis let go of the mail to put her eyes on Moira – _oh god, she liked so much to cross those black eyes_ \- and answered after a while:

"No, not from Dettlaff, my dear Moira. It is true that I would have been happy and reassured to hear from him. No, this is another of my friend's eyes. An invitation to some celebration to be more specific."

"An invitation? At a party?" Moira grimaced.

She grabbed Regis's letter and read it. The beginning of the letter was quite formal. The guests were invited to the Corvo Bianco estate by a certain Geralt of Rivia, on the occasion of his own birthday. The letter indicated that the guests could come accompanied if they wished and it was asked to arrive at least the day before, May 16, 1277. The second part of the letter, written in less pompous writing, was addressed personally to Regis. Geralt told his old friend he was planning to see him again on this occasion. The simpler, less pedantic tone appealed more to Moira.

"Interesting, I think you'll ... have fun? I suppose. You will tell me."

Moira hesitated, returning the letter. She did not know what else to say to him. She was not fond of parties, of being in a crowd of people having to constantly discuss trivial matters.

"Tss..Tss, please Moira, do not act like a child. You know I'll be more than happy that you join me."

As he expected, Moira refused. A lively discussion ensued, Regis using his charisma to convince his companion. He knew that he was going to have a lot to do, knowing her ill-being during social events, even more in the presence of strangers. Moira resisted, she could understand his desire to introduce her to his old friends, he had many times talked about them, but he was asking a lot. No, really, she preferred not to come, and asked him to respect her choice. Regis did not insist anymore that night, May was still a long way off and he knew he had time to talk about it again.

A few days later, that's what he did. The sun was barely up, the first rays of the sun lit up the room and their bed where they were both lying, a simple sheet in battle covering their bodies. Moira was lying on her side, eyes mid-closed, her loose chestnut hair spread on the mattress behind her head. He was all against her body, leaning on one arm, on the other he was gently stroking her shoulder and neck. He watched the face of his mate, whose eyes were closing more and more.

"Moira, my dear Moira, do not go back to sleep," he said in the hollow of her ear, before tickling her neck with a steady kiss.

"Mhh..again? That was not enough for you?" she grumbled, pretending to be bored as a mischievous smile stretched her lips.

"I thought about a little conversation, actually."

Moira turned around and also leaned on one arm, her face facing him.

_Ah, Regis, your immoderate taste for discussions. I would always wonder how you achieve to make me love this with you, while it bothers me so much with other people..._

"Please Moira, can you reconsider your decision regarding your visit to Corvo Bianco? Can you tell me why are you so resistant to this idea? "

She lay down on her stomach, sighing. Still staring at her mate, she thought for a moment:

"Regis, if it was any other party you know I'd take on me to accompany you. But this time it's special, your friend Geralt is a witcher, and you told me yourself that there would probably be others. I ... I do not know how they will react when they will see me. To be rejected by humans is one thing, I ended up dealing with it, but feeling rejected by my fellows... It's something that scares me. "

"I would not pretend to know the other witchers, but I think I can pretend I know Geralt well enough to know he will not do anything like that."

"Trust me, Moira." He added, stroking her face with his free hand.

"I'm going to think about it, Regis. But I cannot promise," she said, sighing, closing her eyes.

That was all Regis was asking for at the moment, glad to have begun to change his friend's mind. Before Moira starts to sleep again, he suddenly grabbed her arm to turn her on her back, before giving her a long, deep kiss, determined not to let her go back to sleep.

In mid-February 1277, Regis decided to leave Dillinge for Nazair. It was in that land that he had followed Dettlaff after the events of "Beauclair's Beast", where he had emerged devastated, a black vision of hatred of the world. Regis had spent a long time with him and did not leave until he felt his friend climb up again. More than a year had passed since and Regis felt the need to see Dettlaff again, to make sure of his well-being.

When he arrived at the gates of the town of Dillingen, accompanied by Moira walking beside him, he stopped and turned to his companion. Before he spoke she plunged her hand into one of the pockets of her belt and pulled out a sheet, folded in four. She grabbed Regis's hand and put the sheet on it. Regis looked at the paper before he met Moira's eyes, intrigued.

"A little reading for your trip. Look it later, not now, please. "

Regis carefully tucked the sheet in his bag, a smirk on his face, and when it was over, took Moira's hand to carry it to his lips, in a gallant hand-kissing.

"Farewell, Moira. We will meet again at Toussaint, will not we? A splendid region, although preferable at small dose. "

"I never said I accepted", she replied, unable to restrain herself from raising her eyes to the sky.

" Of course. Good luck on the Path, my dear."

"Have a good trip, my dear Regis."


	2. The last guest

When Moira arrived at the entrance to the Corvo Bianco estate, the sun disappeared lazily behind the horizon, as swallowed by the low hills that shaped the landscape of Toussaint. She stopped her mare, dismounted, and observed her surroundings. The landscape was absolutely beautiful, she could take a few seconds to enjoy the show. The sky, an intense orange at this time, and light clouds above seemed to be on fire. Towards the horizon, much thicker clouds were already the deep blue of the night and offered a pleasant contrast to the eye. Moira detailed the red brick stone arch covered with lime, which marked the entrance to the estate. A light breeze of evening animated the vine which covered a part of the arch, seeming to greet the visitors, welcoming them.

After a moment of hesitation, Moira seized the reins of her mare and passed under this arch to enter the field, the sound of hooves slamming on the first pavement resonating in the relative calm that reigned out at this moment.

In the beautiful house, which was slightly elevated, overlooking the estate, there was a joyous brouhaha. The dining room, usually empty, was crowded. Around the long table that stretched along the room, the guests were talking in groups of two or three, drinking wine or doing both at once. Some had preferred to stay standing and were talking, leaning against the wall, where there was still some space. In the middle of the table, a dwarf with an Iroquois hairstyle and a poet, dressed in an extravagant purple outfit, clashed with a passionate party of Gwent, under the amused gaze of a young woman with short red hair and a magnificent blonde bard, playing the lute.

Regis was at the back of the room, talking with interest to two sorceresses, one with raven black hair, the other redhead, about the delicate art of potion preparation. Geralt, who was leaning back against the wall, his arms and legs crossed, was not at this time participating in the discussions and was watching his guests. He noticed Regis, regularly glancing at the front door on the other side while continuing his conversation.

"Relax, Regis. I'm sure your mysterious lover will arrive. You do not want to tell us a little about her? Not your style to be quiet. »

Regis just smiled enigmatically, looking at his friend.

"It's your business, but… if she’s a succubus, the atmosphere will definitely become special here. Even worse if she’s a vampire" said Geralt, quite worried about his second hypothesis.

"No, Geralt, she is not a succubus ... nor a vampire, be reassured. As the common proverb says "Wait and see." He laughed, shaking his head.

He resumed his conversation with Triss and Yennefer, when suddenly he turned his head towards the entrance, listening. He excused himself gallantly to these two ladies and went outside. When he returned a few minutes later, he was not alone. Geralt, still leaning against the wall, detailed the newcomer. In the room, the other guests, busy, had not yet noticed the last guest. She was still standing near the door, motionless, scanning the assembly of the head, which she had covered by a hood, concealing the top of her face. Geralt immediately noticed the two swords on her back and her combat outfit. Very intrigued he walked towards her. He noticed Regis's smiling face, visibly delighted, as her partner tightened her lips, jaw clenched, as she saw the witcher coming.

"Come on, Regis, have you forgotten your fabled good manners? You do not introduce us? "

"Indeed my old friend, I miss my duties. Moira, there is Geralt of Rivia, master witcher of School of the Wolf, also known as other names like the White wolf, Gwynbleidd in the Elder speech, Butcher of Blaviken, or Ravix of Fourhorn.” enumerated Regis.

Regis's highly pompous enumeration made Geralt smile, who saw the same mocking smile on Moira's face. A little relaxed, she finally raised her hood.

"Moira of…nowhere, master witcher of the school of the Cat, and I think my titles stop there, unlike you Geralt. "

 

When he met Moira's cat's eyes, he remained incredulous, his eyes wide. He had been surprised to see a woman wearing a witcher's gear but imagined another explanation, someone like Ciri maybe. No in front of him was probably a complete witcher, displaying the distinctive signs of the mutations specific to their kind.

Around them, the guests began to notice the presence of the newcomer. Eyes turned toward her, the smiling faces disappeared for something else. Little by little, seeing everyone's reactions, everyone ends up fixing Moira. The room, which was excessively noisy a few seconds earlier, became silent, an awkward silence.

Moira felt those looks fixed on her, feeling very uncomfortable. She scanned the room and saw the reactions on the faces, from the slight curiosity to the greatest astonishment, especially on the faces of the two other male witchers who were there, in addition to Geralt. She began to hear her ears buzzing, her heart beating harder in the chest. Detecting her friend's discomfort, Regis intervened to help her:

"We are delighted that you have arrived, Moira. Geralt was questioning me a few minutes ago about you, eager to meet you. Is not it Geralt? "

"Yes, that's right ..." began the man. He realized Moira's embarrassment and tried to break the discomfort.

"Welcome, make yourself at home. Are you hungry, thirsty? We have everything we need, "he added, indicating the table with a sign of his head.

At the other end of the table, Moira saw a young woman with ashen hair, green-eyed get up suddenly, grabbing a bottle in her hand:

"Okay, everybody is here now! Who wants some wine? "She asks in a loud voice.

The guests finally stopped to fix Moira to turn to the young woman, willingly accepting her suggestion, and returned to their occupations. Moira exhaled, relieved. She met the young woman's gaze and smiled warmly, grateful for her diversion.

Geralt offered to Moira to get rid of her swords, which she accepted. When she gave them to him, he lingered on the handles of those two swords. His eyes then rested on Moira's medallion, a medallion representing a cat's head, caterwauling. Moira waited for a remark, a question not necessarily nice, but Geralt restrained himself and left without saying anything to put the swords in a recess of the room, on the right, where three other pairs of similar swords already were.

Regis gallantly reached out to Moira and led her to a few free chairs around the table. Just sitting, Regis on her right, she was offered a cup of wine by the young woman with ashen hair, who had just thrown herself on the free chair next to her.

"My name is Ciri, nice to meet you. I never thought I'd meet another woman witcher one day. Oh, yes, I am a witcher myself, Geralt trained me when I was a child. How is it possible that you ...?" she introduced herself, playfully. Moira appreciated her enthusiasm and her childlike curiosity.

"Ciri, calm down. Let her breathe a little, she just arrived", Geralt said.

 

In the hours that followed, the guests came in their turn to introduce themselves, between two cups of wine. Moira felt more comfortable, she had to admit that it was nice to put a face on some names that Regis had spoken to her many times, and the atmosphere was relaxed, friendly. She had been afraid of being in one of those stilted parties where she doesn’t feel to belong.

When the presentations ended and after Moira had time to eat something, Lambert and Eskel came to sit in front of Regis and Moira. The women her mate get up next to her, leaving his place to Geralt. It was a strange sensation for Moira to suddenly find herself surrounded by her fellows, to meet other cat eyes than her own. Thinking back, it must have been decades since it had happened to her.

"Fuck. So, Aiden didn’t me bullshit. Women witchers were not one of his drunken man fantasies.” Lambert began.

Moira smiled at the mention of Aiden, it was a long time since she had heard that name.

"I had already heard noises about School of the Cat, which would have trained girls. But having never met one myself, I did not believe it either. That is it, right? Have you been trained there?” Eskel added.

"Yes, I was trained at the School of the Cat, the rumours you heard are true, Eskel. This one has always been famous for its ... originality, let's say.” Moira replied, grimacing.

She was not necessarily proud to be associated with this school and was aware of what her fellows could think of witchers wearing the cat's medallion, she understood herself.

This reminded her how, decades earlier, fortune – or misfortune - had met her on the way to this infamous school....


	3. New kittens

_An ordinary village in the Kingdom of Cintra, year 1220_

 

Moira's life had taken a turn when she was a girl of only 7 years old, a skinny little girl with dirty knees and long chestnut hair, always messy as she was playing in the streets of the village. Like many other children in this village, she did not have school and was pretty much left on her own anytime. It did not bother Moira, who would take this free time hanging out with the other kids, or wander around the city alone, watching people, animals, stalls, or just clouds in the sky.

What she particularly liked was when strangers, in armour and swords, were passing through the city. She did not fail to hang near the workshop of Ravik, the blacksmith, to see the weapons out of their sheaths. She was always impressed by these weapons, often as large as she, shinning.

Sometimes, with the other kids in the village, they played sword with wooden sticks.

_But it must be a lot different with a real one_ , the girl said to herself.

Moira did not have her own house. She lived with her mother-  _she did not have a father_ -in an annexe of the big building where her mother worked. She did not really know what her mother did as a job, she just knew that in this building men came in and out constantly. Once in the building, they exchanged a few words with her mother, or with another of the women who worked there and went up two to the floor to lock themselves. Moira did not understand what was going on in those rooms upstairs, she had asked the question several times but it was never explained to her, sometimes only saying that she would discover it herself when she was older. From the annexe where she lived, contiguous to the building, she heard just muffled noises, without knowing what exactly.

 

On this early autumn day, little Moira was running at home, after a new day beating the pavement of her worn-out sandals. Panting, she knew she was late, time flies when we have fun, and her mom might scold her if on her return she found that Moira had not done his chores.

Moira walked around the big building without stopping to go to the door of their kind of home. As she pushed the door, her hand on the handle, she heard her mom chatting with someone inside. She frowned, the second voice was a man's voice, yet she knew no man was admitted here. She had already seen her mother several times rabble men who bothered her, telling them that if they were interested they would find her in the big building, but in the annexe, it was out of the question.

"Two hundred ducats, do we agree?" The man's voice asked, insistent.

"I do not know, she is my child ..." answered the female voice.

Moira, driven by curiosity, decided not to enter. She sat on the front step and listened.

"If I may so, it's a unique chance to give your daughter a better life. In your opinion, what will become of her here if she stays here? Work at the brothel, like you? In our school we will give her the best education possible, making her a powerful woman "insisted the man.

"I ... suppose you're right. When are you taking her?" Moira heard her mother.

"We leave tomorrow morning at sunrise. A long journey awaits us. Oh, and I insist that our arrangement must remain between us. If someone asks questions about the girl, find an explanation, but do not talk about me. Is it clear? "

Moira heard her mother stammer something she did not understand. Moments later, a sound of chairs dragging the floor was heard in the room. Moira jumped up and entered, now that she had heard about this school she was burning to see the mysterious man.

Inside the small room stood a very tall man, little Moira had to lift her head very high to see his face. A cry of stupor, very childish, passed her lips when she saw the strange eyes of this man, cat's eyes. He crouches to get to the height of the girl.

"Is it you Moira? I'm Cedric, I'm a witcher, and we take you to a school for you to become one.

Do you know what a witcher is, Moira?"

Moira, very impressed, could only shake her head. Cedric pulled out his silver sword from his scabbard and presented it right in front of the girl, he saw her eyes shine as she stared at the sword, wide-eyed.

"We are monster hunters. We help people, we save their lives. What do you say, Moira, would you like to become a witcher? "

"Will I have one like that, too?" The girl asked, pointing at the sword.

The witcher chuckled, amused by the innocent tone of the little girl and answered that yes, she would even have two swords. Moira uttered a "Waoh" of admiration.

The man finally greeted the child and her mother. Before crossing the door threshold, he turned and asked the little girl to swear not to tell the other children, it was their little secret to both of them. Moira promised without asking any questions.

 

Moira had a good evening with her mother, who pampered the little girl, allowing her to eat whatever she liked. Once in bed, she even took the time to tell her a story. The girl was delighted, her mother rarely took the time to do that, most generally she was at work when the girl was lying in the big bed they shared. The next day, at sunrise, the girl was accompanied by her mother until the exit of the village. They quickly took a path barely taken, which led to a mill in ruins at the edge of the river, surrounded by trees. Arriving there, Moira saw the master witcher who was waiting near a cariole. In the cariole were already a few girls, all of the same age. Moira kissed her mom, climbed up and quickly glanced at the other girls, but she did not recognize any.

The group waited a moment until another woman arrived with her daughter. Moira recognized Naessa, another girl from the city, whose mother works in the same place as Moira's. Moira sometimes played with Naessa, they strolled together in the streets of the village. Naessa looked a lot more frightened than Moira, who waved her hand and showed her the free seat next to her in the cariole. The weakling little girl, with pale blond hair, gave her a shy smile and joined her, after hugging her mother.

The cariole set out for a long journey. Their trip lasted several weeks, although going at a good pace. Twice they stopped a little longer, two or three days maximum. Each time the cariole stopped in an isolated place, usually an old ruin, near a village or a city. Cedric asked the little girls to stay hidden and not to follow him. Each time, when they finally left, one or two girls had joined them. At the end of a certain time, the cariole crossed less and less often cities, just smaller and smaller villages, then nothing. In the cariole, the dozen little girls were getting tired of this trip and were striving to finally get to the school they had been told.

 

They finally arrived in the middle of the morning at the fortress of the school of the Cat. As the cariole approached more and more of the high gate of the entrance, the girls watched the imposing wall of sandstone, eyes wide, silent. Most of them, like Moira, came from villages or at best small towns and had never travelled, never in their short lives they had seen such an impressive monument. Soon the cariole entered a large paved courtyard and Cedric ordered the girls to come down. Intimidated, they executed without a word.

Moira was looking all around her, there were so many things to see, her eyes were not fixed anywhere. She spotted on the other side of the courtyard people who were fidgeting. It was a small group of young boys, much older than Moira and the girls, but not yet quite adult, who were training in pairs with the use of the sword. An adult, probably a master, was watching them and Moira heard him shout something to one of the pairs, without understanding exactly what he was saying.

Moira glanced around the rest of the yard but did not see anyone other than this group. She went to Cedric, who was waiting for the last girls to come down from the cariole and asked him:

"Why are there only boys? Can we go and see the girl witchers?"

The witcher did not seem to expect that kind of question, just stared at Moira without answering her. Intimidated the little girl did not insist. Once all came down the master ordered the girls to follow him, they left very quickly the central courtyard to enter the fortress. Walking at a quick pace to follow the witcher, the girls did not have time to look around.

Soon, they arrived at a heavy wooden door, the master take out a keychain from his wallet and unlocked the door. He let the girls enter a sort of long corridor with stone walls pierced with small openings that let a few rays of light through. Moira, like the other girls, jumped when the master slammed the heavy door behind them, before closing it again.

The group walked for a while, heading for an isolated part of the fortress, before finally arriving at a large central circular room, the walls covered by several doors. Other girls were there and watched the new group arrive. Moira found that this time there were no boys and all the girls were not the same age, so many seemed older than herself. The older ones must have been about ten or eleven years old, they gave the newcomers a quick glance before returning to their occupation. The master let the newcomers there, ordering them to stay there and he would come back a little later to explain what would happen next.

The girls, intimidated to find themselves in an unknown place with unknown people, remained planted there, glancing left and right, not knowing what to do. They ended up sitting, all together, on the floor and waited. Soon, two girls from the fortress approached her and introduced themselves.

"Here, there are only girls. We're getting ready to be turned into a witcher." said one of the girls, a tall, red-haired girl who was barely older than Moira and the others.

"When will we be turned into a witcher?" asked one of the newcomers.

"It depends, for you it will not be right now. Me, it's been two years since I arrived so I think it's coming soon. I can't wait. " told the redhead, a big smile on her face, before adding with pride:

"You are still too small. You have to stay awhile and eat a lot of magic herbs to become strong, like me."

"Magic herbs? What's this?" Naessa asked timidly, standing close to Moira.

"The masters told us that it helps to strengthen our bodies, that otherwise we can not be transformed into witchers. It hurts and sometimes it makes us sick but the masters told us it was for our own sake."

"We do that for a while. Regularly the masters ask us to meet and to sit on the floor in this room. Also, there is a man, he's not a witcher - "

"He's a mage! I am sure !" cut another girl, a small brunette excited beside her.

"I do not know if he's a mage, at least he's dressed oddly, with a kind of long dress. This man comes, he looks at us one by one and chooses one of us "finished the redhead.

Seeing that she did not continue her explanations, Moira asked her "what next? "

"Well, the chosen girl leaves with the ... mage, maybe, to become a real witcher. Arrgh, so lucky girls, I'm tired of being here I can't wait to be called myself!"

"How did you become a real witcher?"

"By magic of course! Once you have been chosen the mage cast a spell on you and… _abracadabra_ , you are a real witcher, with the eyes of cats and everything, " said the brunette, still as excited as a flea.

"Well, we do not really know. Once taken to be transformed, we don't see them anymore, they leave to train in another part of the fortress, where we are not authorized to go to."

"Yes, that's also why we can't wait to be called in our turn. To see our friends there again."

"The new girls, come to me," said the master, who had meanwhile returned to the centre of the room. Moira got up quickly, accompanied by the others, to listen to what we had to say.


	4. Waiting room

Moira found that the girls had not lied to them, their master explained them the same things as they did. The weeks passed thus, then the months. Moira soon understood why the girls were so eager to be transformed and finally begin their training, she also started to dream of it.

It must be said that the life they had here was not the most exciting. They had been promised, when they had been snatched from their parents, to become powerful monster hunters, but for the moment it was very far from that promise. The girls were confined in an isolated part of the fortress, without having the right to go see the young novices in training, much less to be trained themselves. Moira and Naessa lived there a life of waiting, waiting to be called, like other girls. To occupy them, the masters assigned the girls to household chores, to the kitchens to the preparation of the meals for themselves but also for all the other witchers and novices of the school. The girls accepted willy-nilly - they did not really have the choice anyway - knowing that this period was only temporary.

Regarding the famous magic herbs, the newcomers had from the first days the opportunity to see if it was really as horrible as what their elders had told them, or if it was just to scare them.

And the result was unequivocal: No, definitely it was not to scare them. Moira did not see how it could make them stronger to have pains in every muscle in their body, sometimes accompanied by vomiting and fevers that pinned them to bed, unable to move. But Moira did not complain, she always got better, unlike a few other girls who ended up not getting up from their beds. This happened only rarely during the period when Moira was there but undermined the morale of all the girls, who hoped even more to be chosen at the next call to be transformed and no longer having to swallow these damn herbs.

During the time that Moira spent there, she moved closer to Naessa, it was important to have a friend on whom to support each other in hard knocks. Especially since the girls quickly realized that all the girls were not treated equally in this place. The most flagrant inequality was food. The new girls soon learned to live with hunger in the stomach, their portions of food being very meagre. Some girls were attacking others to steal food. The first time Moira witnessed one of these bullyings, she was terrified of it, although she had already witnessed fights of kids in her home town, and sometimes participated, she was not prepared to attend such a show.

That day, sitting in the company of Naessa and two other girls, a little older than her, Moira ate her meagre pittance in silence. At one point she heard voices rising a few meters near her. She saw two rather tall girls around one of the newcomers, a small, stunned girl.

She seemed terrified, head down, clutching her piece of bread. Moira felt her stomach twist when the two older girls began to hit her face, making her fall. One of the girls immediately picked up the bread, while the other continued kicking the stunted, fallen to the ground. At their table, Moira and Naessa were frozen, terrorized, feeling a trickle of sweat run their spine.

More than the bullying, it was the obvious pleasure that was visible on the face of the girl striking, making suffer. This girl, they later learned that her name was Morrigan, was to be a year older than Moira and Naessa. Tall with dark hair, proud-looking, she intimidated more than one of the girls with her eyes with clear blue eyes, girls who did their best to avoid her.

One of the girls present in the refectory finally get up and run out of the room and returned a few seconds later, accompanied by a master. The man, far from reacting, contented himself with watching the scene for a few seconds, the puny little girl still being hit, with an interested air, before going out again, without doing anything. Naessa and Moira exchanged glances, stupefied.

They were even more so when they saw that during the evening meal, the size of the portion of food given to Morrigan, sitting not far from her, was much larger than theirs. Moira noticed that such favours were repeated as if the masters encouraged their violent behaviour.

Thus, in this group of girls locked together, we could distinguish 3 large groups. Bullies, of which Morrigan was a good example, who bruised others. These girls were usually in the elders and some said it was the eating of herbs that made you look so mean, so sadistic. The bullied group was composed of the youngest girls, but also the sweetest. Unfortunately for her, Naessa was in this category, she had always been gentle and timid, which played against her.

Finally, there were girls like Moira who did their utmost to be forgotten. Several times some tried to pick on Moira to steal her food, or just for the pleasure to hurt, but she did not let herself go. She had often played and fight in the streets of her village with the boys and it served her a lot. She tried to be as discreet as possible, taking care of herself. When she saw these scenes of violence towards others she simply turned her head and moved away, clenched her teeth, feeling ashamed to do nothing but fear for her own safety was stronger.

 

Although this technique was effective and kept her pretty well from bullying, she felt bad for Naessa. In the dormitory, her friend's bed was next to hers, she sometimes heard her moaning in pain from the blows she had received during the day. One night Moira once again saw Naessa get her food ripped off. This time it was the entirety of her portion that was removed, leaving her empty stomach. When night came, Moira waited in bed that everyone seemed asleep around her and stood up, approached Naessa's bed. She woke her softly and pulled out of the food of her nightgown, a piece of bread that she had kept from her own portion, and gave it to her. Naessa thanked her warmly, wrapping her arms around her neck.

"Thank you Moira, you're such a good friend," she began, whispering. "You know, I envy you, I never see you cry, unlike me. I would like to be like you."

Moira felt horribly bad at these words. No, she was certainly not a good friend, she was a coward and if she did not cry, it was only to protect herself from bullies. She felt her throat tighten painfully, tears come to her eyes. She sobbed into Naessa's arms, who pressed her closer to her. For a long time, she cried tears she had held for weeks. It lasted a moment until it calmed down. She retired from her friend's arms.

"Sorry Naessa, that sucks. Sorry for not taking your defence. Sorry. "

Naessa forgave, patting her on top of her head. She did not blame her, she did not want her friend to be hit too, that it was up to her to learn not to let it go. Following that night, Moira kept this habit of sharing her portion with Naessa, late at night, on days when her friend was racketeering. While Moira began to feel more hungry than before, she felt more peaceful, and her friend's support boosted her moral when she was not feeling well and that was well worth the cost.

Thus continued for several years, monotonous, punctuated only by herbs, bullies, and calls by the mage. Moira knew that the more time passed, the more likely it was to be called herself. Yet each time, it was another name. Each time, disappointed, she read the same disappointment in the eyes of others. The only person Moira wanted to be called rather than herself was Morrigan, everyone would have been relieved.

_Next time, it'll be me…_

* * *

 

One day, when she was cleaning up the floor, Moira found herself near the entrance to a corridor. This corridor was not just any, all the girls knew that the girls who had been lucky to be chosen to finally become a real witcher were taken by this corridor. Moira, like other girls, longing to know what was at the end of this corridor, but they had forbidden them to go in, the masters never explained clearly what would happen to those who would dare to disobey, but their tone was threatening enough to frighten the girls. Meticulously sweeping the floor, more than was really necessary, Moira stared down the hallway, trying to see what was at the end but since it was ending with an elbow, it was impossible to know unless to go in it.

These last days had been quite painful for Moira, she had to drink a new kind of preparation of herbs, particularly unpleasant. The worst was not the pain it had caused, over the months and years this pain was less severe - unless she just got used to it? This time, unlike the mixtures she used to take, Moira felt her behaviour change, she felt very irritable. When one of the girls tried to steal one of her clothes and Moira had caught her, she had fallen into a rage. The garment, the dress she wore when she arrived at school, was now way too small for her, but Moira kept it under her pillow, it was one of the few things she had from her life before. She had thrown herself on the girl and both had fought violently, banging, clawing, trying to hurt the other as much as possible. Moira had come out with a lot of pain, the other girl was stronger than she and more used to fights, a black eye and sore ribs.

Although since that event, the other girls had avoided Moira, which suited her very well, she did not like this feeling of rage, unable to control herself. She was tired of all this and the only thing she had in mind was the moment on when she will be turned and leave this place. It was in this state of mind that Moira, that day, felt curiosity rise in her, more and more strong. Unable to stop herself, she glanced around, listening intently. Seeing no one and hearing nothing, she finally decided to take a step in the corridor, then another, to finally walk as quietly as she could. Soon she reached the elbow of the corridor, her heart beating. She was finally going to know what was on the other side.

 

First, she was a little disappointed, the corridor continued, identical, dark, over a certain length. Two closed doors punctuated the left wall. Not daring to turn the handles, she did not want to be surprised, Moira went rather directly down the hall, ending with a half-opened door this time. She had almost reached the end of the corridor when the girl heard voices coming from behind the first closed door. Leaping on the spot, feeling a discharge run through her spine, Moira turned around, her heart pounding. Soon, she decided to hide in a cabinet in the hallway, the broom still in hand.

Once inside the girl crouched and tried to be as motionless as possible. Hands covering her mouth to stifle the sounds of her breath, wide-eyed, Moira waited, listening intently. Soon the sound of a doorknob was heard and the voices, two men, became more audible:

"Failed again…. Yet this time I really believed in it, we are nearing the goal! I think we should review the dosage of manticore poison gland. The addition of mutagens of lower vampires on the second part also seems to have had a beneficial effect, we should keep this element for the next ... "

Still in the closet, Moira did not understand a word of what he was saying. "Next what?" She wondered. She heard the footsteps coming closer, and the second man answering, Moira recognized the voice of the mage who came to choose a girl each time:

"Yes, I agree. This time the heart has held up almost to the end. Did you see her pupils? Almost complete! It's such a shame that she didn't succeed, we are so unlucky ... "

Moira could not believe what she heard. Someone was apparently dead and they spoke in a perfectly neutral tone. But who were they talking about? She was even more frightened now, they had spoken of "she" ...

She heard the footsteps getting closer to the closet, another sound accompanying them, like the sound of something dragged on the floor. Gnawed by the need to know more, Moira leaned down slowly and looked through the keyhole. She was very close to screaming when she saw and understood what the two men were dragging down the hall to the open door seen by Moira a little earlier.

With horror, Moira saw the body of a girl, dragged without care or dignity on the ground, held by the feet. Moira recognized the face and thick brown hair of Viola, a girl who had been chosen two days earlier during the call. Having seen enough, even too much, Moira closed her eyes, her hands pressed against her mouth, struggling not to yell or cry, she wanted to do both at the moment.

She stayed there for a while until she had calmed down enough and finally came out of the closet, her legs shaking. Disoriented, she almost forgot her broom, she had to call on all her courage to return a few steps back to recover it. Instead of continuing her sweep where she left off, Moira returned directly to the equipment room to store the broom, before heading to the refectory, dazed. She scarcely heard the master reprimand her for not finishing her work, it was the slap that slammed on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her stupor.

 

In the evening, Moira logically had a hard time falling asleep, the image of the body of the dead girl, dragged by the feet, came back to her constantly in mind. She cried a long time in her pillow, Naessa tried for a moment to comfort her and to speak to her but ran up against the silence of her friend and ends up lying down again.

After a while, Moira came to think a little about what she had seen and heard. How many dead before Viola? ... Moira began to doubt that there was never a single girl who survived, according to the snippets of conversations she had heard that was surely the case. Striving to remember every word she had heard, she pondered what the two men had said about the advancement of their "experiences." She clearly remembered hearing them say that they were almost reaching their goal and that they were sure to succeed soon.

Moira fell asleep, clinging to this idea, to that faint hope that they would succeed next time, that they would have no more deaths.

The weeks, then the months continued like this. On the surface, nothing had changed but for the girl everything was different. Previously enthusiastic and eager to be chosen during the calls, she began to dread these moments. Every now and then she could not help but be terrified, her stomach completely knotted. She had first thought of talking about what she had seen to other girls but ended up giving up. She had seen how the masters could be cruel and she did not know how they could react if they understood that the girls had pierced their secret and revolted. Moira doubted that they would have the least scruple to eliminate them.

_Not me, I beg you. Take someone else but not me_ , she repeated each time she waited, sitting on the floor, while the mage watched them one by one.

She was perfectly aware of the selfishness of this thought but was unable to stop herself, the picture of the girl's corpse coming back to her, her own fear of dying was so much stronger. She had also realized that each time another girl was chosen before her, it gave her an extra chance that the two men would succeed in their work, and that when her own turn would come she could survive.

 

About a year after this event, Moira and Naessa were still there. Aged eleven, they were now part of the oldest girls with, to their chagrin, Morrigan. At that moment, the number of girls present had decreased considerably, they were only a dozen. Indeed, about a year earlier, the arrival of new girls had stopped, while the rhythm of calls had continued, regular. In recent times the masters seemed more and more tense. The mage, who came to choose a girl during the calls seemed also more and more anxious as if a great pressure weighed on his shoulders.

One night, unable to find sleep, Moira silently rose from her bed and pulled Naessa out of her sleep. Since their arrival, the blond girl had changed and had become less soft, less docile, which was probably a good thing in this context because it had allowed her to learn to defend herself. Moira had noticed the change in behaviour of her friend, feeling her become harder, this change became visible especially after she and Moira began to absorb the grass mixture, the one that gave Moira rage.

"Naessa, I need to talk to you, it's important."

"Mmh..What do you want Moira? You cannot wait until tomorrow?" She grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"No, please, I have to tell you something. Wake up!"

Naessa woke up finally and sat on the edge of her bed, more attentive. Moira, sitting next to her, staring down at the floor and hands gripping the edge of the bed, told her what she had seen that day when she was sweeping the floor. She spared her no detail, told her in order how she had ventured into this corridor, how she had found herself listening to the two men. She finally explained the noise, the horrible noise of a package dragged on the ground, and how she had seen that it was a girl, just like them. She spoke for a moment, still in a low voice but without stopping once, relieved to finally be able to tell someone, to share this burden.

When she was done, she finally looked up at her friend. She felt her heart squeeze when she saw, as much as she could in the darkness of the room, that Naessa was not expressing fear, anger, or disgust, just jaded air.

"Thank you for telling me, Moira. I do not know if I should, maybe I would have been better if I had stayed in the dark ... No, actually, it's been a while since I wonder if what we were told was true, about the transformations, the new female witchers trained in a different part of the fortress. I was starting to find it weird that we had never seen one, if there were some female witchers, it should be advantageous for the masters to show them to us… You know, to make us want to become like her and wait patiently, don't you think?"

Moira found nothing to reply, surprised by the words of her friend and her perspicacity. She did not reflect herself too many questions about that. Naessa finally asked her, this time she felt the fear in her voice:

"What about us Moira? Do you think we'll manage? "

"Yes, definitely. I do not want to die here like shit and neither do you, Naessa. We are among the last here, if there are chances that someone will succeed in their terrible experience, it is us. Moira replied, feeling anger rising in her.

Catching her friend's hand and holding her tight, she added, "Promise me. Don't give up. " Naessa promised. The two girls remained silent for a moment, thinking of their promise. Yes, damn it, they had not borne so many years here to die. They could do it.


	5. Bath

_Corvo Bianco estate, Toussaint duchy, May 16th 1277…later._

After this arrival a bit difficult for Moira, the evening continued in a more relaxed atmosphere for the female witcher. The ice was soon broken with the other witchers, and Moira was more comfortable answering the questions they asked her. To tell the truth, they did not seek to dig much deeper into Moira's origins, which she was grateful for. The glasses of wine, or stronger liquor for some, like Lambert, followed one another and the discussions became more natural, they began to wonder about their life on the Path, about the last contracts they had been able to perform.

It suddenly reminded Moira of something. She got up and said loudly, a little fuzzy:

"Oh! About this, I have something for you Geralt! "

"Really? It was not necessary," he replied, surprised.

"Yes! Yes, I insist, I got struggled to have it so ... Wait, I'll get it."

Moira got up, with less grace than when she sat down and started walking towards the entrance, staggering slightly. The three witchers watched her leave without saying anything, curious. Moira was almost at the door when she stopped. The witchers heard her giggle before she turned and told them, still laughing:

"No, bad idea, it would be messy, there are ladies that it could disgust ... We'll see tomorrow."

"A drunk woman witcher, it's time to spice up the conversation. Moira, come to your seat, I'm serving you a drink." Lambert said, noisily tapping the table in front of the chair where Moira had been a few seconds earlier.

"Oh no, I'm passing my turn. I remember the last time we "spiced up", I do not want to start over.

I do not think Yennefer appreciates either ... Well, good evening. " Eskel grumbled, getting up.

Moira tried to find out more about this story, amused but got nothing more from the three men. Later, the witcher was alone at the table for the first time. She took advantage of this moment of calm, it was the first since she had entered this room, to glance at the other guests. She looked for Regis and saw him not far from her, in a serious discussion with Triss and Yennefer. Moira looked back at the two women, whom she found gorgeous. The sorceresses, as usual, wore an outfit that highlighted their silhouette, their hair care and a light makeup enhanced their fine features. Where Moira was, she could also smell a delicious fragrance emanating from the raven hair sorceress. She inhaled longer to try to determine this scent, she recognized the lilac, and fruit maybe? But also felt another smell, much less pleasant, closer.

Moira leaned over and watched her own outfit. Much less delicate, the mixture of horse odour, monster blood, came from herself. She looked for a moment at it, which was much less elegant, _it was not the purpose of a witcher's outfit_ , and which had already known much better condition of cleanliness. Running her hands through her hair, she felt them tangled. She glanced the room and found that of all the guests, it was probably her at this time the less presentable. Even the witchers, although dressed more simply than other guests, were perfectly clean.

Moira, her head still turning, began to feel embarrassed. When she was on the Path she was usually alone and had lost the habit of really taking care of her appearance, paying more attention to it than when she was sitting somewhere longer, especially when she went back to in Dillingen obviously. So today, after a long ride and some monsters eliminated, she had not thought of having a wash before coming to the vineyard.

_Come on Moira. After that, people will still think that the witchers are not clean, you maintain the idea..._

 

She looked for the majordomo who had greeted her at the entrance to the estate, Barnabas Basil if she remembered well, and found him standing in a recess in the house, watching that the guests were not lacking anything. Moira stood up and walked over to him.

"Excuse me, Barnabas, can I ask you something? " "Of course, my Lady. What can I do to help you?

"Yes.. It's a little embarrassing. You see, I just noticed that I was not presentable, do you know where I could go to change and wash?" she said, embarrassed.

"Of course. If you would not mind following me, I'll show you, "he answered before moving forward.

Moira heard a presence and a familiar voice behind her:

"Do not give yourself this trouble, I'll show myself the way to Lady Moira," Regis politely replied.

 _I swore he accented the "Lady"...Sure I look like one…,_ Moira thought.

"Sir, that absolutely, It does not bother me at all, I ..." the majordomo interposed.

"I insist my dear Barnabas." The vampire cut off, staring at the man, before turning to Moira. "My dear, may you follow me? "

Moira, suppressing a giggle, nodded before retrieving her swords and following her friend out. Visibly their departure did not go unnoticed, when Moira passed the door she heard behind their back a Lambert saying sarcastically :

"Here are two we will not see anymore tonight ..."

* * *

 

Once outside, the cool night air relieved Moira of the feeling of whirling. The night had now fallen for several hours, and the crickets singing in the trees surrounding the estate could be heard.

She stared for a moment at the magnificent starry sky of Toussaint, before looking at her mate. He was studying her in silence, a smile on his face.

Noticing that they were alone, Moira finally stepped forward to hug him, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and took advantage of the moment, feeling his hand stroking her hair, the other hugging her waist. The reason for their departure from the party came back in her mind, she ends up backing away from him.

"So this bath, can you serve me as a guide and show me? Or should I go back to ask this dear Barnabas?"

"No, it will not be necessary. Let's go to our room."

Regis saw her companion raise an eyebrow, looking surprised, he explained to her:

"When I told him about your coming, my old friend Geralt offered to house both of us here in one of the houses on the estate."

"I thought you had a ... lair here near Beauclair, right? I thought we would go there."

Regis laughed, obviously the idea of bringing Moira over there seemed to amuse him.

"Come on Moira, I'll end up thinking you're not listening to me. I'm sure I explained to you where I put my lair. "

"At the Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery-" recalls Moira "In a funerary crypt" she added, laughing.

She saw now why he did not want to stay there with her. Moira grabbed the arm that her friend handed her and they moved. Away from the few motley houses below, Moira leaned over to him and whispered softly in his ear:

"I missed you, you know."

Regis did not answer, but a broad smile lit up his face, and he pulled Moira's arm to get her closer to him. He was delighted with the words of his companion, who usually preferred to express her affection with gestures rather than words. He felt her happiness and he felt it too, the happiness of being in her presence after her absence, once again.

 

Sometime after their first unlikely meeting years earlier, during one winter, Moira had finally come back to the Path and Regis gotten back to his life as a barber-surgeon in Dillingen, where he was settled. The witcher had refrained herself from promising anything more, just like him, but both of them had not hidden their joy when she had surprised him in the following autumn, at his doctor's office.

The years that followed had happened in the same way, both finding themselves after a time more or less long each following their own path, but always sincerely happy to meet again. Without really speaking about it officially, Moira had finally settled down for good at his home when she was not on the Path. She started to know the inhabitants of Dillingen and finally to be rather well accepted, and known by them as the witcher of Dillingen and the surgeon's mate.

 

They ended up arriving in a small and simply furnished room, but clean with all that was needed, a bed, a dresser. Moira went around and spotted the bathtub on the left, behind a wooden wall. Tubs of wood filled with water waited beside the extinguished stove, on which lay a large basin of metal. Moira began to heat the water in the basin, then undressed. When all her clothes were at her feet, on the floor, she was relieved to find that her scent came mostly from her outfit, and finally turned to Regis. The vampire, leaning back against the wall, was detailing her from top to bottom and did not stop when she approached him.

When she was within reach, he seized her wrist and pulled her towards him abruptly, without leaving his place. Moira felt his hands run down her back, his nails pressing down on her skin, giving her delicious shivers. When his lips found the taste of hers, their breath became stronger. This moment did not last long enough for Moira's taste when Regis interrupted their kiss and gently pushed her from him. She looked at him and saw his dark eyes staring at her.

An intense, eager look, she thought.

"Fortunately, the bath water will take a moment to be warm enough. " he began to say, slowly, in a low voice.

Moira felt her belly bend, she began to recognize that air. That air he took sometimes when, both alone together, he left his gentleman's attentions to take what he desired, without patience. Like the first time she had seen this facet of him, she could not help but feel a shudder in front of that greedy, predatory air, fear soon forgotten, replaced by desire when he began to undress. Still standing up to him, Moira watched him, feasted her eyes as he did a few moments ago. When he had finished and took a step towards her, she started to recoil swiftly,  smile on her face, playing the cat and the mice.

"Tss..Tss..It's not playing time, Moira. Come here now."

Moira stopped, but did not approach him anyway, still grinning. He finally let out a sigh and went quickly to her and without having time to react, Moira felt his hands grip her hips and lift her off the ground, without difficulty, to rest brutally on the dresser behind her, against the wall.

With both arms around his neck, she pressed against him to feel his body against hers. During this time, still holding her by the hips, leaving marks where his nails were stuck in her fleshy parts, he swept her to the edge of the dresser, trying to place her body as the most convenient as possible.

When she felt him press on the edge of her body, before finding the correct angle and slip into her, long and completely, she let out a loud sigh as she felt his breath on the edge of her neck. At first she did her best to keep her screaming, she knew that people were probably on the bottom floor of the house, but Regis made her let go, and soon he could feel, in a kind of odd bestial pride, the moans of this woman he was making his own, adding to his own excitement.

At a certain moment, out of place and unexpected, he felt another thirst in him, while he was still taking care of her against this piece of furniture, _which, if it had been endowed with consciousness, would have thought it didn't deserve to be the support of such activities._

The female witcher, absorbed in her own pleasure, realized the change in behaviour of her mate when this one seemed to focus more on her neck rather than the rest of her body, slowing his pace to stop.

Moira, divided between apprehension and excitement, turned her attention to her own neck too, feeling his lips wander over the skin and in places he let his fangs, strong enough for her to feel their points tend its skin, but not enough to pierce it.

_Is he really going to do it?_

She had already felt him like this before, but he had always ended to move away from her, a tortured look on his face. But it was the first time he had let his fangs so close and for so long.

_He could just close his jaw right now, just a little more ... Oh God, go ahead, do not let me wait like that._

When his hands tightened their grip around her hips, and she felt his face lean more roughly against the edge of her neck, her heart quickened, a flash of lucidity passed her head.

 _I can't let you do that, not like that Regis. I know you'd regret it_ , she thought while one hand, she grabbed his face to push him away, while she did the same with his chest.

Moira did not give him time to ponder what he was about to do. Descending from the dresser, her legs somewhat numb from the position not the most comfortable, she commended him to lie down on his back.

It was her turn now to take care of their pleasure.

* * *

 

"So, were your fears about this invitation turned out to be true? How do you feel ?" Regis asked her later.

Both comfortably seated in the bath, Moira's back was leaned against Regis and with her eyes closed, enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on her skull as he washed her hair. She felt good in this bath, with her lover taking care of her after their good time.

"Well, as usual my dear Regis you were right, and I'm sure you already know that. I had a good time at this party."

"I would never dare to pretend that I am always right, you offend me," he answered, falsely outraged.

"I could not help but watch you this evening and it seemed to me that things were going well with your fellow witchers. "

"Yes, they seem to be good guys. I think I like them, even that damn Lambert."

"I'm delighted," Regis added, leaving Moira's hair, clean now, wrapping his arms around her on a hug.

They stood there for a moment, in the bath where the water was already starting to cool. Moira asked Regis about his stay at Nazair, she wanted to know how his relative, Dettlaff, was going. She blamed herself a bit for not having asked for it earlier, she knew Regis was worried about him. She had never met that certain Dettlaff, but Regis had confided in her when they met again after his return from Nazair, after the events in Toussaint.

He had tried to explain to her the bond that bound him to the other vampire, without being really clear according to himself, and how Dettlaff had helped and supported him when he had regenerated, a few years before he met Moira. She was affected, feeling grateful for this stranger who had helped, without hindsight, her man.

Contrary to his habit, Regis searched his words for a long time, finally answering her:

"There is some improvement. Unlike you, humans, we can afford to keep our resentment for a very long time, and when we find ourselves injured as Dettlaff has been, we do not forget as easily as you can do."

Moira turned around. She was a little touched by his condescending tone for her species, but seeing his dark look she was pained and pressed herself against him, side face against his chest.

"You say there is an improvement, it's a good sign, I'm sure that with time he will get better."

Regis did not answer, Moira felt him stiffen against her, she asked him what he was worried about.

"He met someone since my last visit. A human, again... Without any offence against your species Moira. I simply did not forget the way the last one treated my blood brother, and I am worried. "

"Did you meet her? Who is she? How is she?"

"Her name is Aubrey. Aubrey de la Savant. She is a scientist of architecture, more specifically Aen Seidhe architecture, and she comes from Toussaint, which is not to reassure me. Perhaps I am a little too suspicious because I have to say that at our first meeting I found her quite charming. If she has a manipulative side, I have not detected it anyway."

"You should go back there. I'm sure you'll be able to give him the support he needs ... and reassure yourself about this Aubrey. Stay as long as necessary. "

"That is what I planned."

"As long as you take the time to show me your vampiric lair before you leave, that's fine with me!" Moira joked to try to lighten the mood a little, before getting up and giving a long kiss to her companion.


	6. Duel

The next morning, Moira awoke early, noting that the first rays of the sun were just beginning to light the area and hills of Toussaint she saw in the distance, enveloped in the morning mist. She felt fit this morning, but a bit numb from her night's sleep. She decided to get dressed to go out to take the air, to walk a little would surely stretch her body. As she was getting ready, dressed in simple leather pants, boots and a loose, white shirt, Regis woke up in turn. Once dressed, she went to sit on the edge of the bed, next to him, before leaning to ask a quick kiss on his lips.

"Good morning, Regis. Slept well?"

"Well, yes, but certainly much less than you, Moira. The evening continued a long time after I returned to the others last night. "

" Was it good? I hope you do not mind me wanting to be alone for a while here before going to bed."

"Of course not, Moira. After all, the real party is only scheduled for tonight. To answer your question, let's say ... everyone was not very reasonable, some excesses were made. It was quite entertaining I must say. "

"Like what?"

"In order to understand, I need to explain what happened this afternoon, before you arrived. To gather in one place men with strong character provoked some masculine rivalry, and each wanted to mount what he was capable of. I could see among other things, Hjalmar and Letho indulge in what appeared to be a push-ups contest, refereed by Geralt. I did not attend the end so I do not know the winner, but the bets were lively. The voice of Cerys covered the assembly while she encouraged her brother, or rather threatened him, I can not say. I would not have liked to be in Hjalmar's place. "

"Mmh, Letho? I don't know who is he."

"A witcher, from the school of the Viper. Indeed he was gone when you arrived, but I suppose you'll see him today. "

"And other than that, other interesting things happened? "

"Yes, a little later in the afternoon, Geralt himself had the opportunity to show what he was capable of. He was chatting with Roche, who recognized Geralt's talent for the sword fight, but doubted he could beat him with a crossbow. Stung in his pride, our friend witcher proposed to verify this. I must confess that I was curious to attend and followed them to the training ground. In the end, the two men were just as skilful as the others and finally agreed on the draw, as gentlemen. "

"Too bad I missed that, I tried the crossbow once ... Well, let's say that hopefully, no one was standing near the targets. Did you talk about excesses last night? "

" Indeed. Last night, these gentlemen wanted to test themselves again, but this time "the old fashioned way. At the sword, like real men." I quote word for word a certain guest whose name I will keep the secret. But given the late hour and the high blood alcohol level, I found it good to retain them. It would have been a shame to end such a beautiful day with a drama ... "

"I see ... I have the impression that I'm going to meet a certain number of people with a nice hangover this morning. "

"For sure. What do you plan to do so early in the morning? It's very rare to see my sleeping beauty waking up so early, "Regis teased.

"Damn it, Regis, don't call me like that… I should not have told you this story. " grumbled the witcher before getting up from the bed. "To begin, I'm going to get some fresh air and visit the estate. And you? "

"I'm going to join Triss and Yennefer in the laboratory. Yesterday we had an interesting discussion on improving a health potion, we intend to test our theory today. "

She nodded, before lacing up her boots. By the time she was going out, her hand on the handle, she heard Regis behind her:

"Moira, my dear, please. Can I have another minute of your time? "

She turned around and saw Regis sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a letter. She recognized immediately the paper and the writing, her own. He turned to look at her:

"Would you like to sit next to me? "

Once she was beside him, he added:

"Moira, before talking about this letter, I would like to thank you… about your reaction last night."

First Moira was tempted to joke about the fact that he did not have to thank her for their special adult moments. But she guessed what Regis what talking about and knew that his abstinence for blood was a far too serious subject for him.

"It's normal, Regis. I know you would blame yourself, if I let things happen, I know I would blame myself too. But you know it, I already told you, if you have the desire to try again, I'm not against it. I trust you, I know you can do it without draining all my blood and ... "

"…and you know, I already told you, what is my opinion about that. You simply do not realize. Moira, I know you sincerely believe you know me, and you know me better than many of other humans. But you still have a lot that you do not know. For your sake. "

"My sake... Seriously Regis, do not forget what I am either. I can bear more than you think." retorted the women, before putting her hand on his cheek, and adding in a soft voice:

"I would like you to show me who you really are. Do not hide from me, believe me I do not forget what you are, and I love that, I ... "

Moira did not finish her sentence, removed her hand before getting up, while Regis unfolded the letter.

"I thank you, my dear. I was moved by your letter and I read it again and again. "

"I ... It's nothing, Regis." Moira stammered. "I'm glad you liked it..."

"Is me that is represented in the portrait, on the second sheet?" He asked intrigued.

"Indeed, it's you. I have not done a portrait for a long time but ... I made it with conscientiousness. I guessed that you should not have had much opportunity to see your image. You know, no reflection and all that vampire stuff. "

"My human form you mean," he replied absent-mindedly. "You are right, I had an idea but no one had ever represented me. It is interesting. "

Moira saw him detail the portrait, pensive, and she took the opportunity to turn toward the door. However, Regis noticed it and called her again:

"Would you mind reading it out loud to me? "

"Why? You read what I wrote ... so you know what I think, I assure I am the one who wrote this letter, nobody else. "

" I have no doubt about it. But I would really like to hear you tell me what you laid on the paper."

"Yes, yes ... I will do it. But not now, please. "

"Later, alright. Count on me to remind you if you pretend to forget. See you later, my dear." Regis conceded.

"Have a nice day, Regis. Good ... brewing? "

 

When Moira was outside, she took a long breath of fresh air. The air was still cool at this time, which was nice compared to the high temperatures that would surely hit them during the day, it was full of scents from fragrant plants surrounding the area.

Without a precise direction, Moira wandered around the estate, enjoying the moment alone to observe all around her, observing the colourful colours of the little houses, listening to the songs of the birds that offered a morning concert. As Regis had told her, she did not meet any of the guests this morning, only one or two workers from the estate who were heading out, probably to the vineyards. Moira went to the stable to see her mare, changed her bucket for fresh water and gave her some oats. Noticing a door on the left of the stable, she passed it. Behind this door, a path led to a kind of open ground, embellished with a little white stone well.

The witcher noted training swords on one side of this space, as well as some mannequins. She even spotted a pendulum, a little farther on, a sort of big trunk impaled with wooden bar, hanging over a series of spaced-out poles.

This reminded Moira of the training equipment she had used so much in the past, during her own training. These facilities were very likely Geralt's, although having become an owner of the vineyard he had obviously not abandoned his habits.

Delighted, she decided to take advantage of this free time to train too. Being on the Path was not a lovely walk, she always had to keep fit, and it was not something that she disliked quite the opposite. When she spent her winters in Dillingen, she spent part of her days training, she had met a master on the city who had been delighted to be able to help the witcher and confront her.

Moira weighed the different training swords until she chose one, of average length and a little lighter than the others and began to warm up. Soon she noticed Ciri arrive at the training ground. Moira was at that moment training with the pendulum, chaining a series of steps, jumps, and fast dodges. She finished her sequence before jumping lightly from the pole where she was standing, to join the young woman.

"I thought I was alone this morning to train but I'm wrong," said Ciri, smiling.

Moira smiled back at her and noted that she also wore an outfit that was very similar to hers, the kind of easy-to-wear outfit that's perfect for training.

"Want to join me? My old master was always saying that it was better to not train alone."

"With pleasure! I would not miss the opportunity to confront another female witcher, it's not as if we were numerous, "agreed an enthusiastic Ciri as usual.

The two women began by repeating, alternately, the postures of attacks, defence and parries. Moira quickly realized that, despite the absence of mutations, Ciri had a very good level. Flexible and agile, she was very quick, Moira soon had to put herself seriously to counter her. Only the reflexes of the young ashen-haired woman and the striking power seemed a little below hers, which was quite expected since the young woman had not undergone the same process as Moira.

Ciri and Moira continued for a moment, before going this time to a real duel. The two women, stimulated by each other, gave the best of themselves, the adrenaline flowing in their veins. In the end, Moira, using the maximum of her reflexes, succeed in disarming Ciri, whose sword flew and fell a little further.

"It's been a long time since a duel had pushed me to my limits. I'm impressed Ciri, you're a great fighter." Moira congratulated her, panting and sweating, at the end of their duel.

"Thank you, you were not too bad either," Ciri joked, also tired of their fight, picking up her sword. "You're fighting ... differently, from Geralt and the other witchers, I loved it. "

"We were not trained at the same school, that surely explains it. The school of the Cat is rather focused on fast attacks than powerful ones."

The two women put away their swords and Ciri offered to eat a bite with her, none having eaten yet that morning. After a clean wash, they agreed to meet at the entrance of the house. While waiting for Ciri, Moira crossed several guests, who seemed to have just woken up. She was amused to see a Dandelion, obviously with a strong hangover, trying to greet her with elegance, but having trouble finding his words.

When she saw Lambert come out heavily from the big house, eyes mid-closed, the light worsening his headache, Moira could not help but approach him:

"I waited for you, master witcher, at the training this morning. I really wanted to see if Wolves have guts." she teased in a singing voice, coming to him.

"I kick your ass whenever you want, Cat. It's not tomorrow the day before a woman is going to beat me," he grumbled.

"I advise you to prepare yourself, Lambert. And to heal your hangover first, "added Ciri, who had just left the house, a basket of fruit, bread and a bottle under her arm.

"Tell me when you will do that, I do not want to miss it!" she added jokingly, before moving away, accompanied by Moira.

 

Moira followed Ciri along a path that came out of the estate and soon climbed between the rocks. At the top, the two women sat at the foot of a tree that gave them a nice shade, the sun was already high and the temperature had climbed well. Ciri explained that the first time she had come here, her father, Geralt, brought her at this spot for the point of view.

_It's true that the point of view is magnificent_ , Moira thought.

From here, when she looked down, she first had an unobstructed view of the Corvo Bianco estate, of its whitewashed brick walls, its colourful roofs, its tall trees rustling in the breeze. Further on, the valley continued up to the first hills, surmounted by similar little buildings, probably other vineyards. Finally, on the horizon, far away, spread the imposing chain of bluish mountains that surrounded Toussaint, which protected the Duchy. At this time and with clear weather, they could see the peaks still snow. Toussaint was really a country apart, thought Moira, so different from the north, much colder, less colourful.

Moira turned her head to detail her new friend, who was watching the landscape. Ciri was a strong woman, full of life, still so young.

"How did you become witcher, Ciri? If you don't mind of course."

Ciri told her willingly, glad to be able to exchange with one of her fellows, a woman one. She told her how, as a kid she had met Geralt, who had picked up and brought her at Kaer Morhen, in order to train her. The events that followed separated them, for a long time, until finally meeting, a few years earlier. Once freed from her chains, Ciri had chosen to follow the Path, like Geralt.

"They never thought of making you undergo mutations?" asked Moira.

"No, I don't think so, for many reasons. But the main reason, I guess, was that they thought it was not worth it. And then, I think none of us seriously thought it was possible to turn girls into witchers… "replied Ciri, pensively.

"…until you prove the opposite to us by arriving yesterday, anyway," she added, turning her gaze to Moira.

"And they were right, surely. I mean, it was not worth it." Moira concludes, seriously.

"And you Moira ... how did you become a witcher? Have you undergone the Trial of the Grasses, like the others? Excuse me if it is a sensitive subject."

It did not disturb Moira to tell her, from female witcher to another one. She told her how she had gone from a ordinary human little girl to a monster hunter, not totally human anymore.


	7. Grasses

Decades earlier, within the fortress of the school of the Cat, a group of girls continued their waiting life. Moira felt a little better since she had shared her burden with Naessa, although they had not talked about this subject since.

A few days later, the master called all the girls, which did not represent many people anymore, in the main room, Moira felt his stomach to tie as each time now. Sitting down on the floor with the others, the young girl looked for Naessa and thought to see the same worried look in her face. When the mage entered, he seemed particularly nervous, a little more at each call, he only spent a few seconds reviewing the girls before stopping in front of Morrigan.

"You, get up and come with me," he said abruptly.

Moira could not help but feel bad, seeing the delighted look of Morrigan, displaying her best smile and getting up hurriedly. Although she hated her, Morrigan was one of the oldest girls, like Naessa and her, and it did not please Moira to see Morrigan running towards her unfortunate destiny, without having any idea of what expected her. She was almost tempted, for a second, to get up and scream:

"No, do not follow him! They do not transform us, they kill us like guinea pigs! "

But she did not do it, just clenched her jaw to ache, in rage. When Morrigan left the room, Moira took a last look, saw the girl's long black hair fluttering behind her, then disappearing.

She jumped up, not listening at all to Cedric who asked her to sit down, and left without looking back. With the exception of Naessa, everyone misunderstood Moira's anger, believing her to be jealous of Morrigan to be chosen instead of her.

When five days later the girls were asked again to gather in the great hall, all showed the same air of questioning. Why again? Usually, they were gathered together only during the calls, and it was far too early for a new call to take place, there was never less than two weeks at least between each.

"Moira, do you know what's going on?" Naessa asked, but her friend shook her head, ignorant too.

The girls had scarcely finished sitting until the mage entered the room. He seemed this time tired but much more joyful, a glimmer in his eyes. He did not even look at the girls and went to exchange a few words in a whisper with their master, who nodded and told:

"Naessa, Moira, get up and follow us."

Moira felt her stomach twist and her pulse quicken, drumming in her head.

_No, it's not possible, I didn't hear well._

She remained frozen, dazed on the ground without moving so that the master approached and gripped her arm firmly to raise her. The girl felt panic invading her and tried to free herself from his grip, shouting. Except for atrociously hurt her arm, it was useless, Cedric mastered her without difficulty while he pulled her behind him.

Moira looked for Naessa but first met the gaze of the other younger girls, still on the ground, who was staring at her in amazement.

_Why they are not happy? They had gone crazy or what?_

The girl ends up finding her friend, who was struggling just as much, maintained by the mage. Quickly the two girls were taken away and Moira recognized the corridor, the one she had borrowed a year earlier.

Sinking into a mad panic, losing her mind, she redoubled her efforts to escape the master's grip, screaming clawing, refusing to move her legs. She did not even notice the heat that ran down her thighs as she was peeing on herself, unable to restrain because of the fear.

She was literally dragged down on the floor to the first door, tried one last effort by clutching her free hand to the edge of the door, but in the last effort the master pulled on her arm and the door closed behind them.

 

From the events that followed, Moira had few memories. Or rather, she forced herself to forget them, to bury them in a remote and deep corner of her mind in order to protect herself. Snatches of visions came to her when she thought about them, which she never tried to do anyway.

She remembered the narrow, high window in the top of the stone wall. She remembered the strange support on which she was placed before being attached securely, a kind of bed made of bars of cold metal. She stealthily remembered vials containing coloured solutions, connected to thin pipes.

When the pipes were connected to her body and the contents of the first flask poured into it, she was unable to smell, see, hear anyway, the pain overwhelmed everything, brutally, leaving the breath cut, and then it was the total darkness.

The young girl once again had the sensation of existing, the feeling that a world existed around her, that there was something else than the pain that gradually faded away. Instead, Moira, motionless and with her eyes closed, heard voices around her. At first unable to understand the slightest sense of these sounds, she ends up picking up her wits a little and grasping the words:

"I can not wait any longer, when are they finally going to wake up?"

"Patience, patience, the hardest job is done, she has survived, we just have to wait now."

After a while, Moira could start to feel her own body, her muscles. She tried to move her fingers, and could. She tried to open her eyelids, and could again. Opening her new eyes for the first time, Moira could see nothing at all, except for a blinding light painfully attacking her retina, forcing her to close her eyelids, and she moaned.

Having heard the girl, the mage and his fellow approached her. Without consideration, they brought their fingers to Moira's face and forced her to open the eyelids again.

"Damn it, we really managed! it was not a stroke of luck the first time, look! "

Grumbling, Moira tried to reflexively push their hands but was quickly blocked, she remembered that they had attached her securely to the kind of metal bed. The second mage understood the problem and told her:

"Your pupils are too dilated, that's why you're blinded, tighten them up".

_What do you mean "tighten your pupils"? Not like if it was possible…_

However, the light throwing peals of pain in her eyes, she tried anyway, imagining her pupils tightening. To her amazement it was effective, and Moira sighed with relief and could see that the light that blinded her so much was simply the sunlight that passed through the little window above her.

Still unceremoniously, the mages finally untied Moira and forced her to get up, before examining her from every angle. Still groggy, Moira thought only of one thing during her exams, not listening to the discussion of the two mages.

_I am not dead. Thank God .alive. I did it._

 

After this examination, one of the master witchers entered the room and took Moira away. This one followed him without protesting, in a part of the fortress that the girl did not recognize. During their journey, she looked all around her and realized a multitude of details that she was unable to notice before: slight scratches on the stones, barely visible. On the ground, she saw the dust moving under their footsteps, marking light footprints. She also smelled a multitude of scents around, the smell of her own skin, the smell of tallow from the torches hung regularly hanging on the wall of the corridor they were crossing.

They finally reached a door, which the master opened with a key from the keychain hanging from his belt. Without saying anything, he pushed Moira inside and locked behind him. The room was a small cell, just a few square meters. The room was quite dark, and apart from two camp beds and a bucket, was devoid of furniture. Moira spotted a figure sitting on the bed watching her.

It was Morrigan. With her long black hair, covering her shoulders, and delicate features, Moira recognized her immediately. But something had changed, her eyes. Farewell the girl's beautiful blue eyes, replaced by pale yellow eyes with a vertical pupil, eyes at that moment seemed to glow in the relative dimness of the cell.

"I would not bet on you..." was all Morrigan told her, dryly.

Moira gets closer and puts herself at her height, bringing her face closer to hers.

"Me too? Tell me, me too? It worked?" Moira asked, excited, touching the edges of her eyes.

Morrigan sniffed disdainfully, without answering, before lying down on her bed, turning back on her companion. Moira went to sit on the other bed and pondered, heart beating fast.

She had kept her promise, she had survived, had she become a witcher, with the mutations? And what about Naessa?

_Damn, Naessa, I've succeeded, you have to keep your promise too,_ Moira hoped with all her heart.

What seemed like hours, hard to know in this windowless cell, passed without anyone coming back to see her and Morrigan, who was still lying down. After a while, still thinking of her friend, more and more worried, Moira began to pace around - a habit she would keep in the future. This ends up strongly annoying her cellmate, who rose from her bed.

"Stop that, you're driving me crazy! Stop it or I hit you!" she threatened, furious.

Moira did not hear these words and continued her pace. Concentrated in her reflection she did not see the punch coming, reaching her right in the face. Shocked, her cheek aching, Moira felt adrenaline flooding her body. She looked at Morrigan in front of her and felt a terrible rage mount in her, uncontrollable, as she had never felt before.

Moira yelled and wanted to hit Morrigan so bad, she felt her arm obey as soon as she had decided her gesture. Like two mad dogs, the two girls jumped on each other, banging, clawing, tearing their hair, with the only purpose to inflict more and more pain to the other.

When the cell door opened one more time, Moira lost focus and turned quickly to it.

_Naessa!_ she thought.

Morrigan took the opportunity to jump on her, making her fall. Tackled on the floor, her face pressed to the side on the hard, cold floor, Moira did not care about this humiliating position. What she saw was much more important.

Naessa, standing in front of her. The face of her friend. With feline eyes.


	8. Novices

When Cedric entered the cell with Naessa, Morrigan finally released Moira, who no longer defended herself, to sit on her bed. Once the door closed behind them, Moira could finally get up and approach her friend. She did not look bad, but rather shocked, she stood in the middle of the room without saying anything, looking at the floor. Moira approached and hugged her:

"We managed Naessa, we did it!"

"Yes, we are alive." replied the young girl, in a neutral voice, without giving Moira her hug back.

Moira was surprised by Naessa's lack of reaction and apathy, she guessed it must have been the counter-stroke of the awful recent experience. She did not have the time to ask other questions, the door of the cell was reopened, and the master ordered the three girls to follow him.

The three girls soon recognized the part of the fortress they were crossing, the same one they had crossed in the opposite direction years earlier, on their arrival. Arrived at the entrance, the sensation of déjà vu was repeated when they entered the large central courtyard, to join a group of young boys who were training in pairs with wooden swords.

Cedric stepped toward the man who was training the boys, except for the day they arrived Moira had never seen this witcher. The man was imposing in size, he had black hair tied in a man bun, streaked with grey, a large scar running down his left cheek reinforced his severe look.

"Master Arnott? here are the new novices.”

"Thanks Cedric. Well then, they ended up succeeding. Witcher girls. We will quickly see if you have some guts, do not expect special treatment because you are girls." began Arnott.

"Master, are you going to train us? I do not understand, why are we not trained with the other girl witchers?” Morrigan questioned, taking her perfect-lovely girl face.

"What others?” replied the master, raising an eyebrow.

Morrigan prepared to ask another question, then abstained, annoyed. Their new master asked for their names, then turned to the young boys who had stopped their training to glance at the newcomers during that time.

The group consisted of a dozen young boys, all of whom seemed to be eleven or twelve years old, not more, like Naessa, Morrigan and Moira. All had passed the Trial of the Grasses and presented witcher mutations. Arnott explained to them that the three girls were now part of the group of novices, and would undergo the same training as they.

Without leaving any time, he resumed training. The three girls looked at each other, not knowing what to do. The master approached them and ordered to grip one of a wooden training sword which were in a tub not far. Moira never forgot the feeling she had when her hand closed around the pommel and slowly raised the sword, before brandishing it in front of her. It was the first time she wielded a sword and although it was only a wooden model, vulgar imitation of a real one, she felt a strength and a certain pride. The sword seemed heavy and flickering in her hand, she could not guess at this moment that this gesture would soon become natural for her.

Thus began the training of the three girls. The first few weeks passed by like a flash, there was so much to learn and to discover that the days were exhausting. Since girls began their training later than boys, they had to work harder and longer to catch up with their male counterparts.

Morrigan, Naessa, and Moira were the first and only girl novices who were ever trained at the school of the Cat. Moira expected every day to see other girls join them, but none arrived. When she met Cedric again she questioned him, he replied without emotion that there would be no other than them, the other younger girls had not passed the Trial of the Grasses.

In front of Moira's depressed look, he took the time to explain that this was an expected result, even for the boys the survival rate was low, about three out of ten only. He also told her that he was not sure that, despite the success of the experiment, other girls would be brought to the fortress to be turned and trained.

"People are more and more suspicious of our caste, recently it becomes very difficult to recruit and train new boys, so girls .... "

This did not comfort Moira at all.

 

Therefore, the new group of novices did not expand with new recruits. At first, the girls had difficulty integrating into the group, the boys already knew each other and as in any social group, tended to keep the newcomers away. Fortunately, this did not last long and by training with the three girls, links began to be woven between them. As expected, Morrigan was the quickest to make friends, showing off in front of the boys, while Moira had more trouble, having kept this habit to be discreet and to stay away from others.

Moira had the opportunity to bond one of the boys, Aiden, in a lesson where their teacher taught them their first sign, Aard. Always working in pairs, the girl was with him. Aiden was definitely one of the most talented novices in the group. Whether it was sword skill, physical strength or sense of perception, amplified by witcher's mutations, he stood out from the crowd.

Regarding the character, he was a jovial boy, with a natural charisma that made him the natural leader of the group, without anyone ever officially designated as such. In comparison, Moira was rather average, she was getting better at the art sword but lacked physical strength compared to her male counterparts, which she tried to compensate with speed and agility.

The novices began to attempt the sign of Aard, which the master had shown them, but without great success. Some succeed, like Naessa or Aran, a tall, rather discreet dark-haired boy, to slightly unbalance their partner, while some like Aiden had more difficulty. Moira only felt a slight breath, like a gust, when he tried on herself.

After a while the pairs switched, and Moira tried in her turn. Concentrating, repeating the hand sign that their master had shown them, she released her energy. A wave of shock was released, pushing Aiden who, surprised, completely lost the balance and fell heavily on the ground. When he got up he was just as surprised as Moira.

"Impressive!...Moira, right? How are you doing that?” he said admiringly.

"I do not really know, I focus a lot, I guess. "

"I cannot do it, can you help me? "

Moira helped her as best she could, she looked at the boy and noticed that he did not exactly place his fingers in the right way to form the sign. Aiden thanked her for her explanations and after this lesson, the two young novices had the opportunity to talk to each other several times and to appreciate each other. Aiden was a humble boy who did not put himself above others in spite of his abilities, Moira liked that and felt freer to talk to him without being constantly on the defensive.

 

Several years passed for the novices of the school of the Cat, the difficulty of their training accentuated, but Moira did not complain. She was finally accomplishing what she had come for in this school, to become a monster slayer. She enjoyed learning the characteristics of the different types of creatures that populated their world and that she would have to fight: Beasts, cursed ones, Draconids, and some other lovely creatures.

After a while, when all the novices were comfortable enough with a sword, the master began to take them to the surrounding mountains, to apply their new skills to real creatures. This stage marked a turning point in their formation, the novices becoming more aware of what their future life would be on the Path. Unfortunately, this also marked the end of the relative security they had confined within the fortress, and several novices succumbed, unprepared to slay monsters during their outings.

Moira and Naessa clung to their lives, cautious, they did not survive the Trial of the Grasses, while so many girls succumbed before it, to end killed stupidly, overzealous in front of a monster. Moreover, Naessa had changed a lot since the beginning of their training, becoming a girl colder, harder, a lot more than Moira. This one wondered if the Trial was at the root of this change, or if it was the training that had changed her, probably both.

Although still close, Moira sometimes regretted the warm girl that was her friend formerly but, sighing, had to admit that it was inevitable, Naessa could never have followed the pace here without hardening. Moira supported this change, especially since she had ended up making a few friends, or what came closest to it, like Aiden or Aran.

However, the passing time did not improve the relationship between her and Morrigan, on the contrary. The brunette girl was in her element here, taking even more assurance, to become arrogant. She was a talented novice, excelling particularly in combat, especially in hand-to-hand combat. With the other boys, she showed herself to a good, sociable, cheerful side, and the boys did not miss an opportunity to brag in order to impress the charming novice.

Moira still had some anxiety when she had to fight her during training. Although she defended herself rather well, Moira rarely won her fight against Morrigan, she had to admit she was superior to her. In their duels, Morrigan never held her strength and did not hesitate to hurt Moira, even if it was not necessary. Moira could see the glimmer of pleasure in her eyes when she were seeing Moira in pain and that was frightening.

The madness of Morrigan, which was only embers barely stroked when they were still girls, blossomed wonderfully in this context of witcher training, in the school of the Cat.

* * *

 

About three years after the beginning of their training a series of changes, although natural, came to complicate the lives of the three girls. At that time, 14 years old, their bodies began to differentiate themselves from their male counterparts, to display some female forms.

It was probably the only time in their life when Morrigan, Naessa and Moira all supported each other, being the only three women in the whole school they had no other people to talk to, sharing the same concerns. One day, Morrigan even expressed gratitude to Moira, although it hurt to admit it, when she helped him during her first period. The brunette girl, usually full of confidence, had arrived embarrassed towards Moira, before explaining her problem, not understanding what was happening to her.

Despite her resentment, she explained to her what was going on, and helped her to deal with the hassle. She herself had started to have the same problem a few months earlier, and unlike Morrigan, she knew what was happening. As a young girl she had grown up in a place populated by women only, and when the little girl had asked what it was, the women had explained it to her, surely more freely than in a traditional family like Morrigan’s.

Simply, she had been surprised to encounter this hassle the very first time, thinking that it would never happen to her. Indeed, some time after the beginning of their training, their master had explained to them in more detail what exactly was the witcher Trials: a series of modifications, mutations, of their bodies in order to make them stronger, increasing their reflexes and their senses.

When he told them in a tone of anecdote that the trial was also making the witchers sterile, Moira felt uncomfortable and saddened. She had glanced at her mates, who did not seem to be overly affected by the news, especially Naessa, who showed her impassive, emotionless mask that became her true face. However, the girl had little time to think about it for a long time, the training drawing all her energy.

The three girls were not the only ones to change at that time. The boys grew up a lot and quickly, soon exceeding the girls in size, their musculature growing. Already attracted by the pretty Morrigan, they started more and more often to try to impress the brunette girl.

Morrigan played that game with joy, using her charms and shapes already bloomed, much more than those of Naessa or Moira. In front of this quite ridiculous show Naessa, as usual, did not care in the least, as she did not care about many other things. Moira could not help but be a little jealous of Morrigan, especially when she saw her friend Aiden behave like a perfect idiot to impress the beauty.

Only two or three novices did not seem completely duped at Morrigan's game, especially Aran. Several times, while training outside at night, all around the campfire, Moira had noticed with amusement Aran, raising his eyes to the skies in front of a Morrigan who was showing off, surrounded by a bunch of fascinated boys.

 

In previous years, Moira had learned to know this boy, tall but rather slender compared to his classmates. Being a rather introverted person like her, the two novices got along well and enjoyed spending time together, even though they usually spoke little. During their free time, Moira often saw him isolate himself from the group, a notebook in his hand.

Intrigued, she allowed herself one day to approach him while he was sitting at the top of the rampart wall, facing the central court, focused on the notebook on his lap. She climbed the granite steps that led to the top of the rampart and arrived close to him.

"Aran? Do you mind if I join you?” she asked softly.

Looking slightly annoyed to being disturbed, she could notice it by his frowning face, Aran turned his head towards the girl but his air softened when he recognized Moira.

"Oh, it's you, Moira. Yes of course, come on. "

The girl, delighted, went to sit beside her friend. Aran resumed his task in silence, and Moira leaned forward a little to observe him. She saw a sketch, very detailed and faithful, of the central courtyard, surrounded by its ramparts.

"Aran, it's really well done! I did not know you had that talent!” Moira enthused.

"Please wait, let me finish it I just need two more minutes.”

Moira obeyed, and let him finish in silence. She watched his hand move with speed and precision, seeming to dance on the paper. When he had finished, he looked at his work for a moment then looked pleased. He turned his attention to Moira, smiling.

"Excuse me Moira, but I do not like being disturbed while I draw. What do you think of it?”

"Beautiful, I did not know you were drawing, why have you not shown me your drawings before?"

"Because you have never asked me the question before."

Moira smirked, yes he was absolutely right, Aran had this habit of answering frankly, without rounding the angles.

"It's not wrong ... and to others, you've already shown them? What else do you draw besides the fortress? "

"Yes, the other boys have already interrogated me so I showed them, but they made some fun of me with that, they say it's not a “manly activity”, according to them,” he confessed, without embarrassment.

"And no, I do not just draw buildings, I mostly draw portraits actually, do you want to see them? "

Moira nodded, and Aran flipped through his notebook to show her some drawings. The girl immediately recognized the people drawn, the portraits were very realistic and well done: Arnott, two of the novices, Morrigan - Aran noticed the grimace of his friend at that time- a woman that Moira did not recognize, with high cheekbones.

"Who is she? Is she an elf?” Moira asked, studying the portrait with interest.

"She is my mother, she's a half-elf. I have not seen her for years, so I drew this portrait from my own memories, I do not know if it's successful or not."

"She is very beautiful, and your drawing is very well done," Moira commented, before realizing something.

Releasing the notebook of the eyes, she detailed the face of her friend. Aran had fine features but his cheekbones were quite normal, as well as his ears.

"My father is a human, Moira, I'm a quadroon," he explained to her, guessing her question.

"Oh ... Ok" she found nothing else to say.

 It did not really matter to her, she had never understood the mistrust between elves and humans when she was still living with her mother, too small to take part in the collective hatred of adults.

Moira regularly asked later to see Aran’s drawings who showed her willingly, even ending up showing them himself, asking her opinion.

For her eighteenth birthday, Aran surprised her by offering a portrait of herself. The girl was affected by this special attention and carefully kept the drawing, folded, in her personal belongings.

Moira was happy to be able to count Aran among her friends, in addition to Aiden and Naessa, although she felt less and less close to the girl. When the master gave them the choice to form pairs during their outdoor events, Moira would regularly team up with Aran.

During fights, Aran's strengths were perception and physical strength, while Moira used her speed and talent for the signs. Complementary, both took pleasure in fighting together, stimulated by each other. When they paired up, their mission was most often victorious and executed quickly, efficiently.

Apart from training, the two teenagers also spent a lot of time together, sometimes away from others. This did not escape the eyes of other young novices, who sometimes had fun teasing them. In response, Aran laughed at the joke while Moira rolled her eyes, without either of them denying or confirming the undertones.

Moira did not know if she felt more than a deep friendship for Aran and did not really reflected on this question. She felt good, secured with him, and that was what mattered to her. Besides, it seemed to her that Aran was not looking for anything other than her friendship and if he felt more, the girl never noticed a hint. She knew very well how the other boys were flirting with Morrigan, always circling around her, she saw the look they had towards the young witcher and she never noticed such behaviour at Aran.

 

One night, Moira was lying on her bed, trying to fall asleep. The three girls, since the beginning of their training, had always stayed in the same dormitory as the boys. Accustomed to living in promiscuity since their arrival, while boys and girls still had the same child physiognomy, it did not bother young novices for a long time.

Moira used to be one of the last to fall asleep, reflecting a lot lying on her bed, hearing in the silence of the fortress the breath of his comrades slow down one by one as everyone felt asleep. In the early years, she stood up on tiptoe to whisper to Naessa as she did before their transformation. But as Naessa grew more and more distant, Moira had given up their nightly discussions and had to find other ways to fall asleep. She had never really found an effective remedy and often woke up with difficulty in the morning, earning her the nickname "Sleeping Beauty" from her fellows.

That night, it was not Moira's nocturnal reflections that prevented her from falling asleep. The teenager was trying to focus on her breathing, but distant noises were bothering her. Moira listened to better hear the muffled sounds, interspersed with chuckles. She could not understand the sounds, but something inside her made her feel uncomfortable, reminding her of something from her childhood, but she did not remember what exactly.

Annoyed, unable to ignore the noise, Moira finally get up and, taking advantage of her developed senses, followed the source of the noise. She left the dormitory and walked a little while to get near a door, left open. Moira could see a faint glow, probably a candle, coming from the room, which she knew to be a small shed. Moira approaching discreetly and understood the source of the noises she heard, or rather the different sources.

Inside the small room, Morrigan stood tight, very tight _, too tight_ , against two other boys, two novices, and all three seemed to spend a very pleasant time. Absorbed by their physical activity, the three novices did not notice a Moira, pale, who were looking at them with wide eyes, frozen on the doorstep.

At the sight of the show that was going on in front of her, the girl would have had a hard time describing what was happening to her, both nauseous, having a terrible urge to run away but unable to take her eyes off, a strange sensation in the lower abdomen, as if writhing.

Moira ends up regaining her senses and turned around, to be surprised by the three young people was definitely the last thing she wanted in this moment. Cheeks burning, terribly embarrassed, Moira returned without dragging to the dormitory, went back to bed, and had all the trouble to fall asleep that night.

 

The next morning, as Aran finished getting ready in the training court, hanging the sword stand around his chest, the boy looked around for Moira but was surprised not to find her. He knew that Moira used to have a hard time getting up in the morning, but was rarely late for training, and the training session was about to start soon. After questioning his fellows, who did not know where she was, Aran returned to the dormitory. In the room, all the beds were empty except one. Aran could see the shape of a figure buried under the sheet, which covered it entirely except for a long chestnut hair that protruded at the end.

"Moira, are you still sleeping? Wake up, the training is going to start."Aran said, shaking his friend's shoulder.

"Just one more minute, leave me alone…" the girl grumbled, turning on her back.

Aran sighed and without mercy, grabbed the sheet and snatched it dry. He could not help but giggle as he saw the girl squirming and complaining. His amusement stopped quickly when he saw her tired features and with compassion replaced the sheet on her. However, he did not leave and waited at the foot of the bed, he wanted to be sure that his friend gets up. Moira eventually get up and get dressed quickly.

"Bad night, Moira? "

"Yes ... I slept badly, that's all. Sorry, I'm hurrying."

The boy noticed during the training that Moira seemed elsewhere. Usually concentrated and studious, the girl made several mistakes of beginners during their duel and Aran had no trouble beating her.

He waited until the end of the day to isolate himself with her, offering to go to the top of the rampart overlooking the training court. Once settled up, sitting on the ledge, He asked her what was wrong.

Moira told him what she had seen the night before. While she told him the scene, not sparing him the slightest carnal detail, he noticed her embarrassed look, rosy cheeks. When she finished, Moira looked up and met the intense gaze of Aran who was staring at her. He grimaced and quickly looked away when he realized she noted it.

"Yeah, about that… I’ll be honest, Moira, I'm already aware. To tell the truth... it is no secret that Morrigan leaves at night with one or two boys.” He confessed before adding "-and never the same ones. "

"So gross!" said Moira. "Eurk, I'm sorry I saw what I saw yesterday. Don’t you think it's disgusting? "

Moira saw Aran take his time, seeming to hesitate, before turning and answering her, a strange glimmer in his eyes:

" Yes and no. Yes, sleeping with several boys at the same time, I think it's kind of disgusting too. I guess. But just sleeping with one person…one person you like. I do not see anything repugnant.

On the contrary."

Moira remained silent, feeling her cheeks warm even more. She finally gets up suddenly and stammered a "see you!" before descending the steps down the rampart two by two.

Normally she loved the Aran honesty style, but in that case,  it made her uncomfortable. This time she did not know what to think of the young man's answer. Still less what to answer him.


	9. Maribor

The last months of the formation of the young novices came, Moira felt again the impatience of the next stage, the one where she will finally be on the Path. It had been more than eleven years since the Trial of the Grasses and thanks to the training and links she had created, especially with Aran, the trauma of the Trial healed. Moira had decided to leave aside her past, what was done was done and she could not change it, to focus on the present, and her future.

One day in April, like all the other days of training, the young novices gathered in the central courtyard, waiting for their master. When he arrived, he took the time to examine them one by one. In front of him, the group had changed a lot since the beginning of their formation.

It was a long time ago when the fifteen or so children were in front of him, at once impatient and impressed. Now, a dozen young adults were staring at him patiently, looking serious, waiting for his instructions. Arnott was rather pleased with this group. Even though many novices did not survive, which happened every time anyway, those standing in front of him were now ready to fulfil their calling.

"No training for you today, young people. To be honest, you do not need any more training, you are all real witchers now.”

The master deliberately stopped there, taking advantage of the effect his words had produced, seeing the eyes of most novices light up, straighten up proudly as if to show that yes, they were ready.

"You only have one more Trial to go through, just to make sure you have balls – no offence, ladies. Once this test is successful, you will be officially witchers of the school of the Cat. We leave tomorrow for Maribor. Enjoy your day to prepare, we leave tomorrow at first light of day. "

He added the last remark, fixing a certain novice: "We will not wait for the latecomers, warning for the Sleeping Beauties".

 

Once the master left, the young novices took a much less impassive behaviour, excited by the news, and wondered about this last test. They took advantage of the rest of the day to prepare their equipment, checking the condition of their armour, the sharpness of their swords. As they had been told, they also prepared mentally, so as to appease their state of excitement and impatience, meditating part of the day.

In the evening, the novices met to share probably one of the last moments all together, around a fire. The discussions turned little on the last Trial, they preferred not to think too much of it unnecessarily, and after a moment the conversation turned on their future, once on the Path.

Moira listened to her companions talk about their aspirations, they wondered what directions to take once graduated. Aiden already had a clear idea of where he would like to go, to the north, in Redania and why not push up to Kovir. Others wanted to take the direction south, towards Cintra or Nazair. Moira asked Aran and Naessa next to them, who were also listening to the conversation without taking part.

"Whatever, as long as there are contracts to be executed I will take up my task," Naessa said in a neutral way. "No need to think about it now, there is already our test tomorrow. Besides, I'm going to bed. Good night to all." she continued, getting up and moving away from the group.

Moira looked at her while she was leaving, disappointed by the coldness of her friend, she would have wanted to know a little more her feelings, if she ever had some. She turned her attention to Aran, who seemed concerned.

"And you, Aran, do you have an idea? "

Instead of answering her question, the young man grabbed Moira's hand and squeezed it in his.

"Have no idea. I just know that I’ll miss you, Moira."

Moira sighed, keeping her friend's hand. Yes, she was trying not to think about it, not wanting to be distracted for the next day, but she was also dreading the moment she would be alone. Where she would be without her friend. Certainly, she will miss him too.

Moira moved closer to him and let go of his hand to put her arms around his back. They remained a few seconds, thoughtful, while the other novices glanced at them before exchanging words in a low voice. When they parted, Aran held Moira close to him and asked her:

"Why being on the Path alone, Moira? What obligates us? What keeps us from going to together?"

In front of her surprised air, he hurried to add, without giving her the time to answer:

"I mean, think about it a little, Moira. You know like me that we are not bad, but when we cooperate, we are so much better. In addition, we like, at least in my case, to work together. Let's go together... At least at the beginning. "

"It's not that I don’t like the idea Aran, on the contrary, I would like us to continue to stay together but, two witchers together on the Path? "

"And why not? To tell the truth, I'm worried about what could happen to me, or even more to you, once on the Path. It is well known that in the first year many new witchers disappear. Together, we will have much more chance to get out of it. "

Moira realized that Aran had to spend a lot of time thinking about it before talking to her. She was worried about their future too, but like other novices in their group and before theirs, she had kept that for herself, the witchers don’t show their concern for death, it was an unspoken rule.

"Yes, why not, after all. Let's try and we'll see.” she finally gave in.

Aran was relieved and delighted with this decision. Happy, he did not restrain himself from kissing Moira's lips, who smiled with pleasure.

_That…was my first kiss? Really?_

Separating from her, the young man stood up.

"Do not wait to go to bed, I do not want you to fail your Trial tomorrow. Or you unable to wake up, sleeping beauty." he teased the girl before going to bed.

 

The group of novices, accompanied by Arnott and two other masters from the school, set out the next morning as planned. The trip took all the day, and in the late afternoon, when the group took a short break up in the top of a hill, they could see below, at the bottom of the valley, the first houses of the city. Before descending the hill, as requested by Arnott, the novices dressed in a long cloak, concealing their swords and pulled their hood over their heads.

When the last rays of the sun went down, plunging Maribor into the shadows, the young novices were standing in front of their master in the largest room, which was rather a dormitory, of an ordinary inn of the suburbs. Arnott gave them a parchment, before returning in front of the novices.

"Good. It's time to practice your training, here is officially your first contract. Go ahead, read." Moira opened hers and began to read.

_Henry Varnon, merchant trading in metals. Lives in Varnon residence, port district, with his wife Lola and his two sons._

Once finished, Moira raised her head and waited for more explanations from their master, who was watching them without speaking. Observing her comrades, she saw the same questioning air at them.

Was it on purpose to give only the name of the employer of the contract? Moira expected to have more detail on the problem, information that can be used to tell the nature of the monster to kill. Maybe it was on purpose, to test the novices on their ability to extract more information from employers, as they would surely do later?

"Employers did not give more information? Just their names? "said one of the novices.

A sadistic smile appeared on Arnott's face, who slowly approached the novice, before answering in a gentle way:

"Employers? No, you're mistaken, it's your target that you have on these scrolls".

At these words, Moira felt a weight fall on her stomach.

_A joke…it’s a stupid joke, right?_

Around her, several novices frowned, divided between perplexity and anger. Moira was about to challenge their master but Aiden took her by surprise, laughing hysterically:

"Are you kidding us, Master Arnott? It's a bad joke to destabilize us?"

Arnott lost his smile and replaced himself in front of the group. In a much harder tone, he clarified things:

"No Aiden, we are not here to joke. At the fortress, you had every opportunity to show your abilities against nonhuman creatures. Know that not all contracts are only about monsters, on the contrary. We are here to verify that you are truly capable of fulfilling a contract, regardless of the nature of the target. "

The murmurs that agitated the group ceased, all had their eyes fixed on him, frozen. Only a young witcher came forward, storing her parchment in her wallet.

"Understood, Master. How much time do we have?” Naessa asked in an emotionless voice, ready to do her job.

"You all have until tomorrow night. Of course, you will understand that this kind of mission requires discretion and if you get caught… Well, consider that you failed the last Trial."

"What if we refuse?” defied someone next to Moira, someone obviously showing his anger.

"Refuse, Aran? You are free to refuse, but I guarantee you that in this case, you will never put a foot out of here. We are the school of the Cat witchers here, not those weak men from other schools who leave their principled questions to stop them from doing the job. Our honour is at stake, no question of leaving dunces in the wild... "replied the master, in a soft voice.

A shudder ran through the young novices, some of them turned around quickly and almost ran, quickly followed by the others. Moira followed the movement, the parchment still in hand. Once outside, Aran grabbed Moira's arm and led her away from the others.

"Moira ... are you okay? "

"No…of course I’m not. Our first contract, human lives? That's not how I see myself in the witcher way."

"Neither do I,” he said angrily, before putting his hands on Moira's shoulder to turn her face to him.

"But we have no choice. The masters were clear, we can’t escape ... I do not want to finish my life here, and I don’t want yours either."

"I know Aran, but I do not know if I could. Killing someone who is attacking you is one thing, but going to kill someone in his bed, in cold blood? That makes me sick."

“But we have to…”

"Let's do it together, Aran. I need your support, and I want to be able to support you too. Nothing forbids us to do it together. Let's make this madness a little more bearable ... "

 

Aran nodded, and the two novices decided to start immediately. It was useless to postpone the inevitable expiry, the earlier the sooner they would be released. From a purely technical point of view the Trial was not complicated either for one or the other, thanks to their overdeveloped senses and their agility Aran and Moira managed without difficulty to penetrate without being noticed in the home of the Aran’s target.

Moira, trying to suppress her emotions, tense, looked at Aran stealthily approaching the fat man who was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Except for the sonorous snoring of the man she heard no sound, as Aran and she held their breath almost completely. Hopefully, the man and his wife were sleeping in different rooms.

The young witcher slowly took out his dagger from his belt, under his cloak, and drew it close to the man's blow. With her stomach knotted, Moira clenched her fists and waited for the denouement, which did not come, the dagger remained a few inches from its target, motionless.

The young women took a step, then a second, towards her friend and put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

The dagger finished his gruesome movement.

The two young novices left the man's house without a sound, and without saying a word, went straight to their second target. When they came out the house to go to the tavern, they both felt a very unpleasant mixture of motions, between the disgust of what they had just done, the relief of having finished it and the feeling of guilt that was gnawing at them. Fortunately, in this late hour of the night, they met almost no one, except for a caterwauling cat on their way or a drunkard returning home staggering, wishing them a pleasant night.

* * *

 

When they pushed the dormitory door and entered, they found that several novices were already there. In the back of the room, Aiden was sitting on his bed, staring steadily at the floor, frowning and a grimace on his face. Aran and Moira heard voices on their right and turned to them. A small group of novices was in lively discussion. Still under her cloak, hooded down, Moira noticed their faces, animated faces, excited, the wild gleam in their eyes.

"Wait a minute, let me tell you mine. A balding old man ... You would have heard his squeaks, kneeling before me, it was pitiful.” Morrigan said, arrogant, before adding "Please, I have children, they need me. I'll give you as much as you want blah blah... "

The other novices laughed at the imitation of the young women, who seemed very proud of herself. Moira felt a rush of rage in her, like a geyser. The last and only time she had felt such a desire to hit, to make her suffer, was going back a long time, in the small cell where she waited for Naessa after their Trial of the Grasses. Fortunately this time Moira was not alone, Aran felt her friend's anger and held her back before she rushed to Morrigan. Brutally he took her arm and led her outside. Once in the corridor Moira, furious, turned to his friend and took a little spirit when she saw that Aran seemed just as furious as her.

"Wait here. I'll be back, "he said without loosening his teeth, before returning to the room.

Moira waited, concentrating on her breathing to calm herself down. She did not have to wait long because Aran came out, a bundle of blankets under his arm.

"I've heard enough, no way I sleep in the same room as these crazy ones. Come with me, Moira."

The two friends went down the stairs and out of the tavern, towards the barn. They had seen when they had arrived the day before and tied up their horses, a mezzanine floor at this barn, used to store hay and tools. They climbed the ladder and went to isolate themselves deep behind a pile of hay bales. After setting up a makeshift bed with the blankets, they took off their cloaks, their armour to stay in a simple shirt, and went to bed without a word. After the anger, the two novices felt overwhelmed by what they had to do, overwhelmed by the behaviour of their master and their novice companions.

 

Lying next to each other on the side, back to back, each could not help but think about the events of the night in their head. Moira felt bad, the feeling of unease was getting worse, she needed to think something else, something happy, feeling stifled by her own thoughts.

She turned to Aran, who was still turning his back on her. Hesitantly, Moira put an arm around her friend's waist and clung to him. She closed her eyes and took advantage of the moment, feeling the presence of his friend against her was good. Aran finally turned to look at Moira's face, a few inches from his, taking her face with his free hand.

Although the darkness was almost complete, the two novices could see the face of the other a little thanks to their dilated pupils. Aran's touch had somewhat quieted Moira but her uneasiness was still there, and obviously it was still in Aran too.

Aran. She was happy to have someone like him on whom to count, with him she did not need to

be on the defensive and could be herself. At that moment, feeling his sadness was hurting her, she wanted to put an end to this sadness, she wanted to show him that she too was there for him. To show him how much he meant to her.

Joining the gesture to the word, she craned her neck and placed her lips on his, gently. Aran sighed and welcomed the kiss with pleasure, moving his lips to the rhythm of hers, as he stroked her face. For a long time, the two young novices took advantage of these kisses, comforting their tormented minds. Little by little, the comfort and emotion of this moment gave way to a need to get closer and closer, to feel the contact not only of their faces but of the rest of their bodies.

Leaving their faces, their hands ventured lower, scanning their torsos through the fabric of their shirts. Soon, this contact was no longer enough and their hands went under their shirts, caressing the skin with delight. Aran interrupted their embrace to sit down, urging his friend to do the same. He studied her silhouette for a moment, in the darkness, before planting a clumsy but passionate kiss on her lips, while he caught the bottom of her shirt to make it up, before removing it.

Moira did not wait to do the same with him, before putting her hands on his shoulders, and to go through the contours of his chest. Under the palm of her fingers, she felt his friend shudder, and she herself had a shiver of surprise when she felt his hands rest on her stomach, before moving up to her chest.

When his fingers, hesitant at first, shy, touched her breast, she let out a sigh of pleasure, stopping her caresses to enjoy his, eyes closed, feeling her lower stomach tugging more and more. She knelt down, leaned over Aran and planted another long kiss, first stroking his teeth with her tongue before he opened the passage of his mouth. When she pushed all his weight on him, wanting him to rock, he lay down again, still holding Moira firmly in his arms.

More. Even more. What they felt, physically and mentally, was so nice, but they knew, they felt they could have more. And they wanted it, it was something new for them and the thirst to discover more was holding them, burning them, and removing them from their problems. Excited, impatient, Aran quickly tried to bring down his partner's underwear on his lap. Moira lay on her back next to him to finish the work, panting, while he was doing the same thing.

After that? Like the first time of all young couples in love, they were rather clumsy, not yet knowing exactly how to match their bodies. But that did not stop them from beginning to discover this new pleasure together.

Later, when they ended to do all they had to do, Moira kept a moment in his arms Aran, lying against her, his face buried in her neck. Picking up their breath, the two young novices did not exchange a word, only sweet kisses from time to time, on the skin or on the lips. Moira finally felt Aran's head weigh more heavily on her shoulder, and his breath slowing as he fell asleep.

With care she freed herself from his embrace to get up, leaving with regret the warmth of the blankets, it was cold outside, to get dressed to go to fulfil a natural need. When she returned, she quickly undressed, keeping only the shirt, to find again with joy the warmth of the blankets and the body of Aran. The fresh air that sweeps his skin when Moira lifted the blanket disturbed the young man in his sleep, he half-opened his eyes:

"Mmmh..Moira stay with me, do not leave," he grumbled before throwing an arm around the girl and luring her against him.

Moira chuckled, planted a loud kiss in his neck before resting her head and closed her eyes. At that moment, the events of the night in Maribor came back to her.

But this time they seemed to her less insurmountable.

 

The next day, or rather later in the morning, the sun was already high enough when Aran and Moira got up, awakened by the sounds of horses being fed below them. Soon they dressed and folded their blankets. They took the ladder to go down, to join the other novices in the tavern. As he stepped through the front door of the stable, Aran held Moira and turned her around so she faced him, kissing her softly on the lips. The young woman smiled tenderly at him before resuming her walk.

That same evening, the novice group set off again for the School of the Cat. Of the twelve novices who had arrived the day before, only nine left that day. The others did not bother to question their masters, knowing full well what had happened, Arnott having been sufficiently explicit. The return, like the go, took around one day, where Moira could observe her comrades. However, she carefully avoided looking at Morrigan, feeling the anger rising in her every time their eyes met inadvertently.

She noted on the way that some novices seemed to have revealed themselves in the final Trial, she felt them more confident, more arrogant. Fortunately, and to her great relief, the girl noted that some novices had had to act despite themselves too. Aiden, usually very sociable and cheerful, had a dark face and Moira stalled her horse several times next to his to discuss with him, comforting him.

Naessa, meanwhile, was impassive, as always. Moira, who was still wondering if the girl was still feeling the slightest emotion, had no doubt now. She blamed her for this behaviour, she was not ready to forget how she had accepted without discussing the order of murder, without any morality.

 

One week after the last Trial, the young novices held together for the last time in the central courtyard of the fortress. In two rows, all wearing the same armour, the dark blue one of their school. From behind were lined pairs of swords glittering under the sun. Arnott approached each new witcher one by one to give them a silver medallion, representing a caterwauling, threatening feline head.

Although standing upright, motionless, Moira turned her head slightly towards Aran beside her and noted his sad look, eyes lost in the vagueness. The girl suspected what her companion had in mind, she herself could not help but rethink the two men they had to kill, not worthily in combat, but treacherously in their bed, leaving them eyes staring with astonishment as a red pool sprawled around their faces and soaking the sheets. She reached out her left hand to grab Aran's, which she pressed into hers.

"Do not think about it anymore. Let's take what is due to us, get out of here and never come back, "she whispered.

Aran smiled at her shyly, stroking her fingers, while the master was continuing to give medallions and some dark-hair female witcher whistled with annoyance just behind the couple.


	10. Contract

_Corvo Bianco estate, Toussaint duchy, May 17th 1277._

 

"... And after that, we both went on the Path, we were real witchers at this moment.” Moira concluded.

Her throat was dry, she had talked for a long time, she poured herself a glass of wine and looked at Ciri. She was glad to be able to share her past with someone, someone who could understand.

Of course, she ended up telling some parts of her past to Regis, who listened just as carefully as Ciri did, but it was different. He was a good person, listening but he was neither a woman, even less a witcher. Moira knew now that she and Ciri shared some common experiences, it has not been easy for either of them to find their place as a witcher. She felt close to the young woman, as a connection between them.

"I'm glad to have met Geralt, to have been trained at the School of the Wolf... I do not know if I would have been capable of a cold blood assassination," she commented, pensively, fiddling some grass at her feet.

"I'm sure you could, you're a strong woman Ciri, I do not say that to flatter you, it's not my style. "

"Do you have any plans today, before tonight's party? "

"Mmh ... well yes, I brought a present for Geralt, but I still have to find a way to prepare it, and I do not know how to do that.” Moira replied, rubbing her chin.

“What kind of present? Can I help you?”

"I brought a...forktail head. I killed it yesterday for a contract not far from here, a beautiful specimen I must say. I have to stuff it quickly but this thing takes time, I doubt that it will be ready for tonight."

"With a spell maybe? You should ask Triss or Yennefer, I'm sure one of them must know how to do that."

Ciri got up and went back to Corvo Bianco, while Moira wished to stay a little longer. Sitting, her legs folded and her chin resting on her lap, she was looking at the landscape but without really seeing it.

Aran.

She sighed as she rested her forehead against her knees, tightening her grip.

_I should not have talked about you. Why did you do that? I just want to know._

_But you will never know, Moira._

She felt anguish, her old anguish rising in her. It had been a long time since she had managed to stop thinking about this part of her past, she refused to relapse now and mope while she could enjoy this festive event and the presence of the man who was able to bring her back some happiness.

A croaking sound took Moira out of her thoughts. Raising her head, she saw a raven a few steps away, on the ground.

"Hey, little spy. Go tell our mutual friend that I do not need to be minded. And ... convey to him my most distinguished feelings. "

The raven turned its head and only flew away when Moira got up and walked briskly toward the estate. The morning was almost over and the sun was now beating hard. She circled the property for a moment, not knowing what to do but wanting to occupy her mind.

She would have liked to ask help from the sorceresses but remembered what Regis had told her, that he was working with them in the laboratory. Not daring to disturb them in their task, she went to offer her help to the servants of the estate, who were busy preparing the party.

 

For several hours she helped to bring furniture, folding tables and wooden benches into the centre of the courtyard, and to install the large white cloth tent. This simple but catchy job made her feel good and she even felt happy about the upcoming festivities.

She was hooking one of the hanging lanterns, standing on one of the tables, when she saw three silhouettes in the distance approaching. A smile stretched on her lips, she finished her task before going down and went to lean against the stone arch at the entrance of the estate, watching the group coming.

It was an interesting trio to see, the right sorceress in a dress as black as her hair, contrasted with the one on the left, with red hair flamboyant under the sun, and a very colourful outfit. Finally, in the centre, the man whose eyes Moira could not help but put down.

She was delighted to look at his regal, straight gait, his pale incarnation that matched his outfit, much darker.

_What a man ... and mine. I should realize how fortunate I am,_ she thought, as the trio went under the arch.

"Were you waiting for me, Moira?” Regis asked her, smiling.

She forgot her usual restraint, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Eyes closed, she did not see the two sorceresses share a knowing look, eyebrow raised.

 "No, even if I'm delighted to meet you again, my dear. No, actually, I have a request to make to your two very charming companions right here," replied Moira, reluctantly stepping back, glancing at the two women.

"Regis's gallantry seems contagious,” Triss joked.

"All right, since my company is not required, if you excuse me ..." he said before moving away. Moira quickly explained in a few words the gift she had planned for Geralt, and the problem she was facing. Yennefer sighed, half amused, half jaded.

"Certainly, Geralt will like this present...Unfortunately," she sighed, probably already imagining the trophy in the house she was living too.

"No problem, I can use the conservation spell, it's a pretty basic one," Triss offered.

"Thank you very much. When do want to do it?"

"I would like to do it right now because we planned to go to the Beauclair’s thermal baths with the others before getting ready for the evening. Besides, do you want to join us? "

"Oh ... yes why not. I thank you for offering me.” Moira agreed, before adding "- I mean, for the baths at least. I doubt it will take me more than ten minutes to get ready.”

"Ah, those witchers ... you are like Ciri, it's the same old story with her," Triss teased, as the three women entered the estate.

 

Some time later, the women met at Beauclair's baths. Although vast, the place had an intimate and particular atmosphere, thanks to the architecture of the place. The baths were made of stone only: white marble, veined on the ground, colonnades of cut stone regularly punctuating the space, basins with stone edges of a darker grey. Large potted plants decorated the area, creating natural screens isolating ponds from each other. A sweet smell of flowers was exhaling in these terms.

In this place the social differences faded, the noble women from Toussaint rubbed shoulders with the workers of the vineyards, the nudity to recall that rich ones or poor ones, all were made of the same mould.

In one of the basins, Moira savoured the contact of hot water, reaching her neck. Beside her, her companions were in full chatter. Although the subjects were not part of her usual interests she listened attentively, it was not often that she could attend, even less be part of this kind of feminine moment. It was quite odd for her, but she was glad to be part of it. Taking advantage of the men's absence, discussions quickly revolved around them.

"So, ladies, what do you think of men of Toussaint? "

"Charming. Gallant men, with manners, it's not unpleasant at all, "replied Shani.

"A little too many manners for me," Ciri added, laughing.

"There are already quite a few beautiful specimens among our group I think,” Keira added with a smirk. "I am fond of witchers ... and I'm not the only one here.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, making others laugh, including Moira.

During the previous evening, Dandelion sang a ballad, narrating the numerous loving affairs of a particular man. The song had embarrassed Geralt, and someone told to Moira that Geralt was the favourite subject of the poet's ballads, and this song was no exception.

"Since we are talking about witchers ... what about female ones? are they as successful with the opposite sex as their male counterparts?” Keira asked, mischievously

“Depends...In my case, It does not seem to help.”

"... Except with vampires, obviously," Ciri added in a low voice next to her, teasing her friend.

 

The conversation continued, while Moira rose from the pool. Crossing the baths, she went to a long table on one side, where were offered refreshments. She was having a lemonade drink when someone called her:

“Excuse me?”

Turning her head, she saw a middle-aged woman, wrapped in a towel. The women stood straight, proud. Moira noted the jewels, of gold and precious stone, she wore on her hands and ears.

“Let me introduce myself, Countess Amelia de Pompadour. Can you grant a few minutes, to me and my companions?”

Moira noticed a little further a group of women sitting on their towel on stone benches, watching them with interest. Moira nodded and followed the countess. While observing the group, she noticed that all had some luxurious jewels and pale skin.

_Certainly not vineyard workers ... What do they want?_

"Well thank you. Forgive us we are aware that this place is normally a place of relaxation, but we could not leave the opportunity,” began the countess.

“You are welcome. What can I do for you?”

"We would have a ... inquiry to ask you. It's a sensitive subject, but I think you're the right person for this job. Are you really a ... mmh”

"A witcher, yes. You intrigue me with this contract. You must know that a witcher lives nearby and that other ones come to see him regularly, why would I be more appropriate?"

"Ah. You must talk about Geralt,” said Lady Amelia in a disdainful tone. "He did not honour the contract the last time."

"Really? I am surprised, Geralt is one of the most famous and talented members of our caste. Tell me more please."

"The contract concerns a succubus living here in Beauclair. As you must know, these immodest creatures love to torment our virtuous husbands to drive them to sin. This is unacceptable and must stop. Definitely."

"And Geralt refused the contract? Forgive my insistence but I have the impression that I am missing some elements in this matter. "

"Well ... Ten years ago, Geralt and a few companions arrived at Beauclair. We asked your fellow

about this case and he agreed. We thought that he had indeed killed the monster because the succubus disappeared as long as Geralt was present in Beauclair. Yet, later he left with his friends, the succubus reappeared. But the bonus we paid to Geralt did not reappear... "

Moira raised her eyebrows, astonished. This story was very strange and so intriguing. The female witcher reflected a few moments. The countess added:

"We think that the creature used its charms, you know, men being men.... That’s why we would like you to take care of it. As a woman, we trust you more in this matter, do you understand? "

_Well, that’s would be the first time..._

"Whatever, you awake my curiosity, I accept the contract, now let's talk about my bonus and information in your possession ..."

 

A little later Moira returns to her companions and plunged with joy into the hot water basin, listening to the conversation:

"Ciri, my dear, have you looked at the two dresses I put on your bed for tonight? Have you decided?" asked Yennefer in a maternal tone to the annoyed ashen-haired woman.

"No, I have not chosen yet ... Is it so important? Why cannot I come dressed as usual? I look disguised in a dress ... "

Severe negotiations followed, amusing Moira a lot.

_I wonder who will give up first. Both of them look very stubborn. Like mother, like daughter._

After a while, Ciri sighed and looked for support from others, but no one intervened. Not only they were curious to see Ciri dressed in a more feminine way, but also they did not want to fight the strong temperament of the raven-hair sorceress. When Ciri met Moira's eyes, she smirked:

"Well ... But there is no reason some would be exempted in this case. Right, Moira? "

"Oh? No thanks, I pass. Anyway, I have neither dress nor makeup and all that stuff. Not really convenient to be on the Path.”

"Come on, this is such a weak excuse. Together, I am sure that we must find something to lend you. Right, ladies? "Triss added, turning to the others, who nodded.

_Thank you Ciri, I’ll remember that..._

 

The women enjoyed the baths for a while before leaving. Moira had agreed to join them later, in Ciri's room, which was on the floor of the main house. In the meantime, she went back to her own room.

Kneeling on the wooden floor, she glanced at the monster's head. Triss's spell was very successful, the head seemed really... alive. Eyes bulging, furious, the creature had its mouth wide opened, surmounted by a long horn, and showing many yellowish and sharp fangs.

Using large sheets of paper, she tried several ways to pack the odd gift as best as she could, when Regis returned to the room too. She felt him approaching and standing just behind her.

 "Interesting ... I did not know you have a taste for taxidermy. You surprise me every day."

"And why not? “She started defiantly. "It's a gift for Geralt’s birthday. Can you confirm that the convenience is to bring a present to the one whose birthday is? "

"Absolutely. I cannot wait to see the reaction of my old friend when he will unpack your… present.”

Moira finished her packing and once satisfied with the result got up, turned around and took his hands.

"And you, my dear, what have you bring? You are such an expert in good manners, it would surprise me that you arrived with empty hands. "

"Of course. My present is ready, although more conventional than yours, I have to say. Elixir of mandrake. I have already seen several times that Geralt appreciates my humble preparation. "

“And he is not the only one.”

Regis smiled at her and with his hand made her put the head against him, hugging her. They stayed for a little while, until she stepped back, remembering something. But he didn’t seem wanting to let her go.

“What is so urgent? We have free time, let's spend it together," he whispered in her ear, giving her chills.

Ah, It was tempting, very tempting. On the one hand, the prospect of a moment with him, maybe enjoying his strokes, the touch of his skin ... Or just spent more casual time, around the vineyard, which was very pleasant too.

And on the other hand, a very likely incessant chatter, while she would play the doll to makeup and style. The choice seemed obvious, yet Moira gently pulled away from his embrace and met his gaze.

"I'm sorry Regis but ... I am expected. Believe it or not, but I'm going to make myself beautiful for tonight, with my new friends. You know how I am, I am always talking about dresses, makeup and stuff....Err this sounds so ridiculous.”

He chuckled at her irony before she added more seriously:

"No, I am serious, I have to go now. I do not want to make them wait. Honestly, I'm glad they suggested joining them. It is unexpected but pleasant. "

"I perfectly understand Moira, you should go. I am quite impatient to see the result."

"Women only event, you will have to wait. Unless you want to confront the wrath of, among others, 3 sorceresses and two witchers. "

"No thanks and that would be very inappropriate anyway. I’ll see you later," he concluded, letting her go.


	11. Happy Birthday

The sun had just set behind the green hills of Toussaint when the first lanterns hung along the white cloth tent were lit, illuminating the beginning of the festivities with a soft, measured light. Like the day before, the freshness of the early evening was light and pleasant after the heat of the afternoon. The first moths began to turn around the lanterns, and the cricket songs were heard in the background.

Under the tent, around long wooden tables, the guests were already starting to sit in small groups to discuss and open the first bottles of wine - the first ones of a long series certainly.

At one end, a wooden platform had been set up in front of a tree, and long curtains were hanging from the branches on each side of the trunk, thus making a scene for the small group of musicians who were turning their instruments at that moment. In one of the corners of the platform was a stack of packages and other boxes wrapped in paper, this stack became more imposing each time a new guest arrived and deposited his own package.

Regis was sitting at one table with Dandelion after this one had finished talking to the group of musicians on the stage. The bard sat next to his friend and took a few moments to observe the scenery set around him.

"Perfect, a party in an enchanting setting, in the presence of friends and accompanied by the music of my Toussaintois fellows. What more can we ask for? " He said, delighted.

"Great wines from the duchy, my friend,” Regis added, handing him a glass of red wine.

"Indeed, this is very important!” laughed Dandelion, taking the glass, before raising it: "Cheers! ".

The two men took a sip of wine, savouring the nectar silently.

"I was wondering, how the writing of "Half a Century of Poetry " is progressing?”

"It has made good progress, of course, but I still have a lot to write. I want to be able to faithfully transcribe the epic of Geralt in his quest for Ciri and describe how I have made a significant contribution to his success. And of course, I want to be able to write the meeting between my delicious Priscilla and me, how she was subjugated by my charms and ... "

"Do not forget to tell how you ran after me, Dandelion," said a laughing voice behind the poet.

He turned around and seeing Priscilla, remained silent, eyes wide in front of his companion.

"My Callonetta, you are more radiant than the sun itself.” He flattered while getting up, before giving him a hand kiss.

He glanced at the other people behind them before approaching her and adding in a low voice, looking at her tenderly:

"And you're by far the most delicious tonight, even if I do not deny the charm of the rest of the women's assembly. "

 

Even though he had spoken so quietly that only her could hear him, Regis, still seated, heard anyway. Leaning to the side, he looked for Moira among the women who had just arrived but did not find her. He got up and went to the main house, where they came from. As he climbed the flight of stairs, he saw the door open and Ciri leave the house.

"You're lovely, Ciri, although I seem to guess that this kind of outfit does not seem to make you feel very comfortable," he said gallantly.

"Indeed, thank you for the compliment ... but wait for a little to see your dear Moira. She hesitates even more than me to go out like that, even if I told her that I found her very well ... Surely you will be more effective than me. She's still inside. "

Regis thanked her, entered the house and found Moira there. Standing with her back to him, the witcheress was staring at her own reflection in the mirror, in an unfriendly way.

From where he was, Regis was detailing his friend's outfit, a long, straight, flowing black silk dress that was fitted to her slim waist. The only flourishes he saw consisted in the sleeves of the robes, long, ending in black lace, and some golden embroidery on the shoulders. Her hair was as usual braided back, though in a more sophisticated way, clearing her face.

In the reflection of the mirror, he saw her staring hard at herself, judging. It was the first time he saw her wearing makeup, he noted. She wore a black pencil line around her two cat eyes, a similar way Ciri usually did.

It was the only makeup she had, but it was enough to change her, the black line highlighting her eyes, making her look even more intense than it already was. He remained behind her for a moment, silently, until she turned around and stared at him. In front of his silence that persisted, she sighed.

"Yeah, I find myself weird like that. Wait for me, I'll change quickly and I'll be back ... "

Regis held her by the shoulders to replace her in front of him, still examining.

"No, it's true that you look very different, but the word" weird "is not the one I would use. You are gorgeous usually, and also dressed well like this. And I don’t even talk about your eyes. "

"I return you the compliment. Well, you're always neat anyway. "

He wore neither his gloves nor his usual heavy long sleeveless jacket, rather worn. For the occasion, he had replaced it with a lighter black, simple one, over the same long shirt that he usually wore, with the kinds of belts surrounding his arms. And rare thing, he had left his eternal satchel filled with plants.

She was triturating the fabric from the edge of her sleeve when Regis pulled her against him and kissed her, first gently then quickly much less innocently. He let his hands wander over her body, taking advantage of the contact of the soft tissue that was fine enough to perfectly feel her underneath. Grumbling with pleasure, he felt her reacting under his caresses, guessing the desire that rose in her as he rose in him. Before they succumbed to it, he stopped the kiss and pulled away from her.

"We should join others now.”

"Yes, we should ... Sadly," she sighed, taking hold of his hand.

 

Among all the guests that were here, many had a lot of experience with parties, banquets, and other festivities. However, none was disappointed and everyone would remember this evening in Corvo Bianco. Wherever eyes were put smiles on everyone's lips could be seen, lots of laughter, loud voices, louder as the evening progressed. The group of musicians was playing with pleasure their songs, sometimes catchy, sometimes sweeter.

At one point everyone's attention was taken over by Lambert, who in a loud voice called everyone to meet in front of the stage. He was holding an object covered with a cloth beside him. When everyone, intrigued, had gathered and stared at the mysterious object, the witcher withdrew the cloth.

Like the others, Moira's eyes widened, before she let out a loud laugh that she hastened to hold, hand on her mouth. Beside Lambert was a canvas. Art lovers would say that this painting was of a classical genre, it was an allegorical representation.

On the canvas was represented Geralt, completely naked but his masculine attributes were cleverly concealed by a ribbon of fabrics floating artistically around him. The subject stood in a very heroic pose, staring up at the sky. The canvas was objectively very beautiful, but the representation of the subject was so much the opposite of the true nature, humble and a little gruff, of Geralt that to see this painting gave you necessarily want to smile, or even laugh.

Besides Lambert, who seemed very much pleased with the expected effect, stood Geralt facepalming, grumbling:

“Lambert, Lambert, what a prick....”

After this good joke, or bad according to the point of view, Lambert covered the canvas and brought it where he had found it, that is to say in the delivery of the house, usually well hidden from all looks unless a facetious witcher decides otherwise.

Moira was about to return to the table, where she was before this interlude listening attentively to Shani's talking with Regis about medical techniques, when Priscilla came on the stage:

"Can I have your attention, please? I wanted to thank our hosts for their warm welcome, with a ballad in their honor. Thank you, Geralt, Yennefer, and a very happy birthday to you Geralt. "

The young bard took the time to sit comfortably on the high chair, one leg folded under the other, her lute firmly against her, before tuning the instrument. When she began to play the first notes, the conversations stopped completely to listen, the attention captured by the melancholy air of the song.

Moira had a presentiment, and when Priscilla began to sing, her crystalline voice shook her whole body.

 

_These scars long have yearned for your tender caress_

_To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own..._

 

The song was even more moving than Moira had anticipated. As the song progressed, the meaning of the words, romantic and sad at the same time, the soft and melancholy air, the voice of Priscilla, the whole touched Moira as she rarely had been. It was just a song, a stupid song, but she could not help feeling invaded by opposite emotions, between joy, sadness and above all love.

She felt her throat tighten, heart pounding in her chest, swelling as if it had not enough place. When she felt a hand gently squeeze hers, she met Regis's gaze, looking at her tenderly. She threw herself into the arms which he opened to her, buried her face against his shoulder and remained there, while around them the melody continued, bewitching the assembly.

When Priscilla had finished playing the last note, a heavy silence hovered for a few seconds. The assembly was still under the emotion, Regis and Moira were far from the only couple embraced.

The first applause that echoed was Dandelion's, admiring look at the bard, followed quickly by many others. Regis wanted to gently move away from Moira to applaud too but his friend resisted, keeping him tight against her, her face still buried in his neck. She whispered low, so low that he could not hear it if he was not what he was:

“Stay with me, Regis. Do not leave me.”

These words seemed to trouble him, who for once he did not know what to say. Simply, he squeezed her a little more against him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, offering Moira a warm shelter to take back her spirits at her own pace.

 

After a while, she could not say if it was a few minutes or more, she finally pulled away from their embrace when Ciri approached them. The young woman was somewhat embarrassed to see but especially having to interrupt the intimate moment of the couple in front of her.

"Regis, Moira, Erm, sorry to interrupt you ..."

"Please, Ciri, tell us how can we help you?” he asked politely, while Moira left his arms.

"It will be fast. I just want to make sure everyone has put their birthday presents on the platform. We are going to ask Geralt to open them. "

“Mine is here.”

“Mine too," added Moira. Ciri noticed the little voice of the witcheress, almost strangled.

Having obtained her answers, she quickly left the couple alone. Regis looked back at his mate and saw her retouching her dress, nervously. He was about to question her but changed his mind.

Gallantly, he suggested instead to go get them some refreshments, while waiting for the present’s unwrapping. Barely he returned than Ciri jumped on the stage, while the musicians were leaving it. She called Geralt to her and showed him the present pile in the corner. It was big now, packets piled up, of different sizes and shapes. The witcher scratched his head, before seizing the first packet, and returning to the centre, in front of the guests who were watching him, smiling.

"You should not have, there are too many ... "

"Geralt we want a speech, what the hell!” Dandelion's voice started in the back of the group.

"Damnit Dandelion! Ok, well ... thanks for the presents. Thank you especially for coming, it's nice to see you all again. That's it, I think I said the essential. Now, let's see if I can guess who offered me each present .... "

He began unpacking his presents, one by one, trying to guess who offered it. He was pretty good at that game and did right almost every time. He was particularly pleased when he unpacked one of the smallest packages, containing Gwent cards and thanked Zoltan warmly, without hesitating a second about.

One of the presents was a single bottle, containing a colourless, unlabeled liquid. Not guessing, he uncorked the flask wearing it near his face to smell, and quickly swallowed a large sip. He winced slightly when the elixir reached his palate, before burning his throat.

"Ouch... mandrake elixir, very strong, as usual, but excellent. Thank you, Regis. “

When Geralt lifted Moira's package, curious about its imposing size and heaviness, she straightened up, eager to see his reaction but tried to keep a neutral air. Was he going to guess who had offered it?

He started to remove a strip of paper and bent his head, observing the object inside, without the guests being able to see it from the bottom of the platform. An amused smile appeared on the face of the witcher who quickly tore off the rest of the paper sheets before lifting the stuffed head and presenting it in front of the guests.

Several people gave a shocked sound, while the laughter of Eskel and Lambert, side by side, was heard. Yennefer, who had joined Geralt on the platform, was staring at the head with a slightly disgusted air. He pretended to reflect, holding his chin in his hand, before turning his head to his fellows:

"Eskel? Lambert? Which one of you? "

"I like the idea a lot, but it does not come from me," Lambert said.

"Neither from me, Geralt." continued Eskel.

Moira coughed and raised her hand with a falsely shy air:

"Happy birthday Geralt. I thought it was an appropriate gift ... you know, from witcher to witcher... " she explained, barely hiding the urge to laugh.

"I really like, for real! Thanks, Moira.” He concludes before moving on to the next gift.

 

After Geralt had finished opening all of his presents, Moira joined her fellows, while Regis went back to Dandelion to continue their interrupted conversation from early in the evening. Lambert watched her arrive and detailed her from head to toe, without any embarrassment.

"Well, well, I thought you were some kind of a tomboy but ... you're really classy like that."

"Do not be jealous Lambert, I'm sure you would be very hot in that dress too. Even more than in Yennefer's.” Eskel completed.

The three witchers laughed together. Once again Moira did not understand the reference, and looked at them one by one, hoping for an explanation. They looked at each other, before putting Moira in the secret, telling her their epic drinking evening at Kaer Morhen, several years ago. They did not forget to tell how they ended wearing the sorceress' dresses, which surprised and scolding them like kids.

Moira was seized with a burst of uncontrollable laughter, sored rib when the men concluded the story where they tried to contact the Lodge, but felt on the hierarch of Novigrad in the toilets.

"You know how to have fun, for sure!... Oh God, please, next time you must invite me, I want to see that ..." she managed to say between bursts of laughter.

"Absolutely! We'll give you men's clothes while we're making ourselves beautiful ... "

The witchers poured themselves out again and Geralt asked:

"Well, besides that Moira, how do you find your stay here? "

"Very good, thanks again for welcoming me. I had already been to Toussaint a long time ago but I did not linger. What can I say? Beautiful landscapes, delicious wine, oh and lucrative contracts too. "

“Really? What kind of contract?”

"Not later than this afternoon, I was approached by several noble women for a succubus problem.

I will not reveal the amount of the reward because it is out of decency, but... "

“Wait. A succubus in Beauclair?”

"Yes. Besides, you must know what I'm talking about, these ladies told me that you were in charge of the contract ten years ago, when you came here. What happened? the succubus reappeared some time after you left, you did not kill her? "

Geralt ran his hand over his head, a little uncomfortable.

"Oh, well, if I can dare to ask you, of course, " she added.

" You can. To answer you, no I did not kill her, the story is a bit more complicated than that. Let's say ... a peaceful solution has been found."

"What? How? I have never heard of a succubus stopping her activities just with asking her nicely.It's not like they can restrain their impulses. Tell me how, if I can use the same method, why not? "

"Oh no, I doubt that you want the same method to be applied. Anyway, it's not to me that you should ask, but rather your dear vampiric companion. He...did all the work, to a certain extent. "

"Regis? Doing a witcher job?" Moira laughed.

She could imagine him trying to multiple professions, but absolutely not that one. She wanted to know more but Geralt refused, she noted not to forget to ask Regis later about it.

"Lambert, you talked about Aiden last night, do you know him well? What becomes of him? "

Lambert glanced at her before taking a sip of his mug.

"Yes, he... he was a very good friend of mine. But he is dead now, I'm sorry to tell you. "

Moira felt a weight fall on her stomach, clouding her good mood.

Aiden. She knew that members of the School of the Cat, like the other schools, were reduced to a handful, all dead in sad circumstances. But the news shocked her anyway. He was a talented witcher and a good man.

"What happened? ” She replied in a downcast voice.

"That Karadine bastard had him executed."

“And where is he now?”

"Dead. We sorted out him with Geralt. It will not bring Aiden back, but at least he is revenged. I do not know if Karadine was one of your friends but ... "

" Certainly not." Moira cut him nervously.

So few of us still alive... When's my turn?

Chasing her dark thoughts, she stood up and walked to the stage, where the band was playing at that moment a particularly catchy air, having encouraged several guests to dance. Moira leaned back on one of the posts and watched the dancers. The good mood of the dancers and the music drove away from her gloom and she looked at them with envy.

_Even though we have a longer life expectancy, time goes on so fast. Too fast.  
_

At one point she met Ciri's gaze, who approached and pulled her on the dance floor unceremoniously. Laughing, the witcheress let herself be drawn away with pleasure. After a while, the musicians took a well-deserved break and she went to enjoy some of the cake that had been served in the meantime. Once finished, she looked for Regis and finally found him, returning to the place of the party.

"Are you having fun, Moira? I hope you do not mind leaving you alone for a moment. I took this opportunity to spend some time with Geralt and Dandelion, to remember our old gone friends "

"I don’t mind at all, but now what do you think of going away a bit, just the two of us? Can I have a little time of yours, just for me? "

"With great pleasure. I follow you, my dear. "


	12. On the Path

Several decades earlier, the situation for Aran and Moira was really different from the festive and joyful one in the Corvo Bianco estate. Immediately after receiving their medallion, they both went to the stable to ride their horses and leave the fortress. In the hurry to leave this place behind them, they had already saddled their mounts and tied their meagre affairs before the ceremony, in order to save time. They had also done their farewell before, it was extremely fast because apart from Aiden, they did not really want to keep any bonds with anyone.

"Farewell, and good luck on the Path. See you on the next winter, " Aiden told them when Aran and Moira came to see him.

They glanced at each other, hesitating before Aran spoke in a low voice.

"Keep that for you Aiden, but we do not expect to come back. Not this winter, nor the next, nor those after... "

The young witcher looked at the couple, frowning. He prepared to contradict them but changed his mind.

"I understand. Although I am sad not to see you again, it is your choice ... Pay attention to yourself."

"You too Aiden. Good luck on the Path."

Thus began the Path for the two young witchers. As their path took them away from the school of the Cat, they felt a weight lose from their shoulders. They could do now what they had been trained for and when they finished their first contract, they were almost happier to feel the relief of the villagers than the tinkling of the few gold coins in their purses. However, all was obviously not idyllic, they quickly realized the distrust of humans, glances of contempt and insults, whispered or thrown aloud, on their way.

Moira soon noticed the difference in behaviour towards her, compared to Aran. Arrived in a village, the duo used to go directly to the billboard looking for contracts, before contacting the employers. When they approached, they looked at Aran apprehensively and Moira scornfully. The impression was confirmed when it was the witcheress who spoke, introducing herself before asking about contracts. Often, the men looked at her with disdain, before throwing it back to turn to Aran as if the witcheress did not exist.

This behaviour hurt her a lot in the early days, she could not help feeling the embarrassment warming her cheeks, before feeling anger rising in her. Aran became angry with the men who treated his mate like this before turning on his heels, leaving the villagers with their problem.

Unfortunately, they could not afford to continue this way because without contracts, no money, and that put them in difficulty. In the end, they finally agreed that he would be the one contacting the sponsors alone before joining her to begin their preparations.

Apart from the contact of the villagers, which was probably the least pleasant part for them although the least dangerous, the two witchers were happy to work together. As still novices, they enjoyed sharing their skills, discussing together the best way to fill their contract around a campfire. Once prepared, they fought together with the monsters, stimulated by each other.

Each time, when after their mortal dance the beast was laying at their feet, Aran and Moira were feeling fully alive, the adrenaline of the fight flowing in their veins. During their first contract and after the monster was killed, they looked at each other, panting, sword in hand, feeling another kind of excitement rising in them.

A little ashamed to feel aroused as they stood bloodied, a monster corpse at their feet, they restrained their desire and return to the village, in order to recover their reward. But that night, when they found themselves alone in their inn room that they could afford thanks to their newly won gold, they surrendered to each other, furiously wanting to renew the experience of their first night, after their final Trial.

 

Time passed. Aran and Moira were beginning to find a balance, happy and comforted that the decision to walk the Path together was the right one. Their path took them from village to city, from province to province without having a precise path, but both going in the same direction. The days followed one another and they experienced a certain routine that pleased them. During the day they travelled on horseback, learning about contracts. In the evening and at night, around a campfire, both were preparing themselves thoroughly.

Moira preferred instead to prepare the potions while Aran was preparing the oils and coating their swords. The young witcher kept the habit of drawing sketches on his notebook, focusing on portraits: portraits of people they met on the Path, many portraits of Moira. At the young woman's request, he showed her how to draw.

Autumn arrived, the last leaves of the trees fell, leaving only the conifers to display their verdure, shaken by the violent and icy winds of early winter. The two witchers continued on their way but began to worry about the future. They had not discussed it, but for both of them it was out of the question to winter at the fortress of the school of the Cat, they would not change their mind in any case.

But in this case, what to do? Completing contracts together was certainly easier, but the reward was not doubled, and they both needed to earn their lives. They began to travel the roads faster, not sparing their horses, to go through more villages and fill more contracts.

After several weeks at this intensive pace with no resting time, Aran and Moira began to feel exhausted. This had an effect on their abilities and the first serious injuries began to mark their bodies, although because of their young age most of the wounds would end to heal without leaving strong marks.

On the morning of the first snowing winter day, they arrived in a small village at the foot of the Amell Mountains in the province of Cintra. The icy wind that had been blowing for several days had suddenly stopped completely, Moira noticed the plain white sky above them, a sign of the first snows incoming. With a heel kick, she pressed her horse and Aran did the same.

In this village, the couple found only one contract to make, from a couple of elderly people. Aran chatted with a small, grey-haired, unkempt man about the problem and about the amount of the reward.

During the conversation, Moira stayed behind and was looking at his wife. She was about the same size as her husband, hair all grey except for a few fine brown locks. She seemed quite uncomfortable, wringing her hands while her wrinkled face anxiously watched the two men.

Moira stood there in silence, she had a bad feeling about their future payment but kept this thought for her at the moment. Those last days, as winter was progressing, the villagers who had hired them were stingy with the amount of the rewards. She was struggling to blame them, the coming winter would be difficult for everyone, witchers or humans, but they could not work for free.

After finishing to talk, Aran and Moira left and, once sure that the couple would not hear it, exchanged their doubts. Yet they still decided to make the contract, both had been affected by the old man. They had found him sincere when he had told them, modestly, how their son had been killed by the beast. It was their only son, who was working in marble mining, and his disappearance had left them alone in their old age.

The two witchers thus accomplished their mission, which fortunately was not complicated this time, before returning to see the old men. When the woman saw them arrive, she hurriedly returned to the house, before going out with her husband, and both waited for the witchers on their doorstep.

"We killed the beast. I know that... it will not bring back your son, but it will not hurt anyone anymore.”

"Thank you, master witchers. You have our gratitude, " thanked the old man nodding his head, but carefully avoiding the look of Moira or Aran.

_I have a bad feeling about this..._ she thought, under her hood which was starting to be covered by the first snowflakes.

"You're welcome. Now please can you give us the agreed reward. "

The old man stiffened at his words, exchanged a quick glance with his wife who was pale and looked panicked.

"The money, yes ... I do not know how to tell you, but winter is coming, and we do not have much. Our son was the only one to help us, but now that he is gone... times are tough you know. "

Moira took a severe air, upset. What she expected was happening, they would have to negotiate again, plead, to recover their well-deserved money. They looked at each other for a few seconds, when a little groan from the little old woman drew them from their thoughts. She was holding her ribs, arms tightly wrapped around her chest, and swaying slightly with head down. They could see her shaking like a leaf.

"Mercy, master witchers, do not hurt us! We should have told you we could not pay you but if we did that, you would not have helped us... and the beast would be ... Joan..."

She could not continue, sobbing. Her husband approached her and caressed her shoulder, before turning to the witchers, looking weary.

"We regret to have manipulated you ... But let us saved life, I beg you. At least let my wife alive, please."

The witcheress grabbed Aran's arm in silence and took him aside.

"Moira, we can not....” he began.

She looked at her companion. Under his hood, she only saw the bottom of his face but at the sound of his voice she felt his anxiety and guessed why. For her, too, the memories of their final trial came back to her mind. No, she could not do that either, she never wanted to do that again.

"Of course not. But what are we going to do? Winter is starting to really settle in and we still have to find where to stay. But we do not have enough money…Not at all. "

He thought a few moments before returning to the couple with a decided step, Moira on his heels.

The couple stared apprehensively at the young man in front of them.

"We will not hurt you ... but for us too, times are rough. To be honest, we are looking for a roof over which to spend the winter. Forget the money, but can you in exchange house us and feed us until spring? "

The two elder people smiled, greatly relieved. With hands still trembling with emotion, the women walked over to Aran, grabbed his hands and looked up to meet his eyes under the hood.

"Of course... oh, of course, we can. Thank you, master witcher, I was so worried. When I saw the cat's head of your medallions I told my husband not to engage you, but the beast was still there so... "

"What? Have other cat witchers been here? "

"Yes, but much less understanding than you. Our neighbour, the former baker, was killed by this witcher when he refused to pay more than what was agreed. A story of a monster more dangerous than expected... So you can easily guess that we, being unable to give you a single ducat, were pretty worried about our old bones. "

"Not a surprise..." Aran sighed, before following the couple into their home.

 

This first winter passed faster than expected for both of them. They became more acquainted with their hosts, who ended to trust them. They learned the same day, around a hot meal in the little dining room of the wooden house, that the man's name was Herman and his wife Hannah.

The old lady insisted that the couple moved into the bedroom of their missing son. At first, a little embarrassed, Aran and Moira finally accepted and felt good in this summarily furnished room, the sloped ceiling that descended gently to the ground. They spent pleasant nights there, the physical security no longer weighing on their minds they could devote themselves to one another, giving free rein to their passion.

The two couples get along well, although very different in age, life style and nature. Trusting in the young ones, Herman and Hannah took care of their guests, who helped them with the housework. When the last snows of winter stopped and temperatures became milder, Moira and Aran prepared to leave.

On the day of departure, the old couple accompanied them to the door. Both had a sad look since they had developed special feelings for them, considering them a bit like their children and seeing them go away did not make them happy.

"Goodbye Hannah, goodbye Herman. Thank you for everything again and take care,” greeted Moira.

Hannah let go of the sob that she had been holding back just now, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Letting go of the edge of her dress she was triturating with her hands, she stepped forward and hugged the two witchers against her, her head barely reaching their shoulders.

"Take care of yourselves ... and come back to us whenever you want. Come back next winter if you do not know where to go. "

"If the Path brings us back to the area, we will not miss the occasion, Hannah," Aran reassured her, before placing his hand on the little old woman's head crying against them.

 

After their departure, a new year began, and the same routine that all witchers shared, was repeated again: trip, find a contract, complete it, recover the reward, and another trip again... In the following winter, both decided to return to Hannah and Herman, who welcomed them with open arms.

Thus, the same cycle was repeated for several years. At the end of three years, Aran and Moira decided to take separate paths, agreeing to meet their hosts at the beginning of the winter, as they did every year. They were happy to be together, but now they had a lot more confidence in their witcher skills, and each wanted to test themselves a little. Aran decided to go to the North, roaming contracts in Temeria, Redania and why not until Kovir? While Moira would go in Cintra, Nazair and Toussaint.

When they met again, they both had a lot of things to tell each other. When she was alone on the road, she took more confidence in her, the hardest for her was having to confront the mistrust of the villagers but learning to fend for herself was undoubtedly enriching.

Sometimes, when she was alone near her campfire, she sometimes thought of the other witchers of the school of the Cat, whom she had not seen a single member since leaving school. She was nostalgically re-thinking about her former childhood friend, Naessa, but this person had long since disappeared, replaced by the emotionless woman who had accepted the assassination contract without asking a single question.

Being alone was something new after the years of promiscuity spent at the fortress, then with Aran, but that did not bother her more than that. She knew that she was not really alone and that she could count on him. Indeed, before they went in different paths they had agreed on their "check point" where they could send mail. This is what they did, given the distance that separated them and the fact that a witcher never stays long in the same place, it happened that some letters never receive an answer, wandering in nature. However, those who arrived did not fail to give a broad smile on the face of the recipient.

Four, five, then fifteen years passed like this. Some expected but still painful events happened like the death of Herman, of old age. This year, they stayed longer at Hanna’s home to comfort her and enjoy time with her. The spectrum of death was getting closer to her too like it was always closed to the two witchers, thanks to their dangerous lifestyle. After all, like a venerable master said cleverly: “Witchers never die in their own beds.”

And time continued to run without any respite. Their lives could have continued like this if life was not so unpredictable, and people’s behaviour even more so.


	13. Mom

In the dining room of a small wooden house, a black cat was laying lazily on the bare wood floor, where the rays of the low sun passed through the glass to form a bright spot. No one could tell what was going on in that cat's head at that moment, but he seemed to have sweet dreams, his eyes closed but his lips fluttering from time to time.

This chapter is not about this cat’s life, even if these creatures are fascinating. Besides, the dreams of this cat stopped abruptly, like a bubble of soap that explodes, when he heard a dry sound of metal against the wood on the dining room table.

Th cat hastily raised his head, alert, ears forward and eyes fixed on the source of the noise. Hannah started cutting the vegetables on her large chopping board, already preparing her evening meal. In this early autumn, the vegetables were still numerous and the old woman took advantage of it, knowing that the abundance of fresh ones would stop soon.

Although wrinkled and with some signs of arthrosis the woman's hands remained agile, her gestures precise and she soon finished cutting all her vegetables under the watchful eye of Mitsi, the cat of the household. She got up from her wooden chair with a pain in her knees when she heard heavy blows on the door.

"Yes! Yes! Just a second !” she yelled out before moving slowly toward the entrance.

Her tired face lit up when she opened the door, letting in a stream of light, framing two silhouettes. Although Hannah could not see in detail the faces of the two comers she recognized them immediately. With a radiant smile, she hugged the two people against her with astonishing strength for this little woman of old age.

"My children, I'm happy to see you. But come in, come in! Don't stay here.”

Moira glanced at her companion who was also smiling and entered. Once inside the witcheress went by habit to the bottom of the house. She left a bedroom on her left to climb a staircase on her right, followed by Aran. When they came down after a few minutes the two witchers had removed gloves, cuirass, hoods and of course swords. They felt lighter when they sat down without hesitation next to each other on the same bench, as they did at each of their visits for more than ten years now.

"Mom, do you need help?” Moira asked as Hannah came back slowly, carrying a tray with three cups and a steaming teapot on it.

"No no, it's good,” she answered, putting the tray in front of them, before sitting down.

"How are you, young people? I'm surprised to see you arrive so early this year.”

She still had a good view for her old age and detailed the couple in front of her. They looked as young as they always seemed, she did not think they had taken any sign of age since she knew them, yet it was a long time ago now. Instead of wrinkles, they got scars, Aran had one that crossed his cheek while one laid on Moira’s forehead, above her right eye.

Whenever the two witchers came back, usually in early winter, Hannah and Herman had been happy to see "their children" as they called them. In return, they also saw a sincere joy on their face although also marked by the fatigue of a year on the Path.

One winter, when all four were sharing a more festive Christmas meal, Moira had called Hannah "Mom" by mistake. All had laughed but the little old woman had been touched, and when she had been alone with Moira she told her modestly that she saw her as his own daughter. Then she concluded that it did not bother her at all to be called “Mom”. The habit remained, Hannah had become "Mom" and Hermann "Dad"... until his death.

Hannah continued to detail the two lovers, while Aran poured water into each of the cups. They looked particularly happy that day, their eyes sparkling and a smile on their faces. It was particularly pleasant for her to see it.

“So, you didn’t answer. Why are you already here? Is everything ok?”

"The year was a good one, with several lucrative contracts that allow us to come back early, for once,” Moira explained vaguely, agitated.

The little old woman had not failed to notice the short complicit glances that had been regularly exchanged between them since their arrival. What did they have in mind?

"That's all? Are you sure you're not hiding something from me? "

"Indeed, there is something that we wanted to tell you. We-" Aran began.

"You will become parents!” She cut him off, her head up to him.

He opened wide astonished eyes, not expecting that answer.

"No, we're not going to be parents..." he said without giving explanations about the witchers' infertility, that was not the time for that.

"But we are getting married. "

 

"So, Miss future bride, how do you feel? Not too anxious? "Hannah asked, sitting on a wooden bench.

The morning was pleasant and the low-angled light from the sun - it would not rise more at the zenith at this time of the year - illuminated with soft light the small garden at the back of the house.

On her knees, Moira was digging the earth for potatoes, throwing them one by one in a basket beside her. She had volunteered to relieve Hannah who was getting too old for such tasks. Seated on her bench the little old woman was wiping up the harvested potatoes while chatting.

"No, not at all, much less than I would have imagined. To tell the truth, it seems... natural. In the normal course of things. "

"I'm happy then. I would have liked my Hermann to see that, it would have pleased him. " Moira turned her face which looked darker stained with dirt and with her hair in battle. "Me too. We tend to forget that time passes. That's why we decided to go for it, as long as .... " She stopped her sentence but Hannah completed:

"Before I'm gone too. You can tell it, my daughter. That's the truth and such is life. But tell me a little bit about how was this proposal? "

The witcheress smiled and stood up. She went to the bench while dusting her hands and knees and sat next to her adoptive mother.

"It's probably the least romantic proposal you've ever heard."

"I'm sure it’s not, go tell me about it. "

"Well ... then we were hunting this werewolf near Oxenfurt. Saying it was difficult would be a great understatement and to be honest at one point I thought our end was coming....and Aran too I think. In short, after a long and troublesome fight we managed to slay the beast. "

She paused for a moment, lost in her thoughts. Hannah waited patiently for her to resume.

"We were so relieved, you have no idea. We were each on one side of the beast, our silver sword in hand. I looked at Aran who was covered in blood - especially the beast one- in front of me. He seemed exhausted and out of breath but so happy, if you had seen him, Mom. "

"You are very in love, aren’t you? "

Moira sidestepped the question as every time she had to talk about feelings, but Hannah knew her well enough to know the answer.

"I was in a bad state too. I don’t know if a couple has ever engaged in such a situation. Okay, so there Aran laughed and asked me to close my eyes. What I did of course. When he told me that I could open them again, he was kneeling on the ground in front of me. "

"Oooohhhh, with a ring? I don't see you wearing it, "she cut off, looking down at her earthy hands devoid of jewellery.

Moira ran them around her neck and unfastened her witcher's medallion, which she placed in Hannah's hand.

“I don’t understand.”

"Yeah, excuse me. It does not seem obvious to you but for a witcher, his medallion is very personal and we almost never leave it. And the one you're holding here is not mine. "

“I see, so this one is Aran’s? ”

Moira nodded silently with a little smile on her face.

"And you gave him yours. Oh girl, and you dare to tell me it's not romantic? You’re exigent!” the old women gently scolded, giving the medallion back.

"So, how do you imagine marriage? Does it mean something different among witchers? "

"Different? I can be wrong but I think we will be the first witchers to get married together so I don’t know what to answer. I don’t think that will change much in our usual life. It is more like… a promise?"

"And children? Do you want some? "

She looked at her, a little embarrassed. The infertility of the witchers was a quite taboo subject and they had not talked to Hannah or Hermann about it. They tend to avoid the subject between each other so with others.... However, she decided to explain it to her in a few words.

"Oh I'm so sorry Moira, I had no idea. Excuse me for having teased you a lot with that in the past."

"You could not know. It's like that, we can’t do anything about it, I got used to the fact. But Aran has more trouble.” She replied sadly.

"Why? What does he think? "

"He got the idea that we were actually not sterile. His theory is that as a result of the Trial of the Grasses mutations on our bodies, we became in some ways a separate species. According to him, that is the reason why witchers are assumed to be sterile. Because none of them ever had a child with a human. But now that witcher women exist... "

"But you Moira, what do you think? This is very good news, no? "

"I can’t share his idea. We have been together for almost fifteen years now. If I had been able to get pregnant it would have already happened. No, I don’t believe it. "

Hannah noticed her frowning brow as she stood on the edge of the bench, both hands gripping it.

"Are you worried? You can talk to me, you know. "

"Aran loves to draw, you've already noticed that. Several times I flipped through his sketchbook and came across some sketches of myself. Nothing abnormal so far, right? Except that he represented me with a rounded belly ... as if I was expecting a child. It made me extremely uncomfortable. "

“Really? I find it sweet. "

"Not me," she replied curtly. "I've got over it for a long time now, I don’t want to start hoping.

Apart from bringing me disappointment, what’s the point. "

"Don’t be so harsh, if the drawing is his way to express himself you have no right to judge him for that. Did you talk to him? Does he really believe in it? "

"I know, I don't blame him. Yes of course we talked about it, I think that in his heart he also knows that it is impossible. "

"I am so sorry… "

"Don’t, really! Come on, I like chatting with you but these potatoes are not going to harvest themselves.” She said slightly annoyed as she got up.

 

The wedding took place a few weeks later with a small committee, in the presence of Hannah of course and some friends of hers. At Aran's surprise, Aiden was present, arriving just minutes before the start of the ceremony. Moira had contacted him secretly while before to tell him the news and she was just as happy as the future groom he was here.

She had also contacted Naessa... more in memory of their vanished friendship, who knows this event could perhaps resurrect their links?

But she did not show up. On the morning of the wedding, Moira nervously threw some peeps out but in vain. On the other hand and against all odds, they saw another witcheress arrive. Proud and without any form of embarrassment, Morrigan knocked on the door of the house with a large bouquet of flowers in her hands.

“So, what, I'm not invited to parties anymore?” She had laughingly said before entering the house without being invited to do.

The groom and the bride had looked at each other in amazement before welcoming her. After all, this day was their big day and they were not going to let this unexpected event spoil their happiness.

Hannah, Aiden and Morrigan were thus the ersatz of a family attending the wedding. Hannah questioned Aran about this and he explained that unfortunately, they had never been able to find their parents. When he was taken to the Cat Fortress he was too young to remember exactly where he came from, like Moira. With his mate, they had tried to find them during their journeys, but without success.

"My only family is Moira now. And you Hannah ... _mother in law_. "he had said the day before when he was alone with her.

"And maybe some kids someday? Who knows? " "She told you?” He said with surprise.

"Yes, she explained to me this witcher’s concern and what you think about it. Keep faith Aran you're right, even if Moira refuses to believe it. I support you. "

 

The ceremony was simple and unpretentious, based on the married-to-be personalities. Hannah had insisted to offer the bride a real dress, and after putting it on and having seen her reflection Moira had to admit well that it would be a pity to marry in her eternal travelling clothes. She even had a compliment from Morrigan, that was so unexpected that deserved to be noted.

Like many couples before them and like many others who would come later, they swore the usual wishes. Simply, they adapted them a little, their home would not be a house full of children but the presence of each other.


	14. The Bannered mare inn

One evening in the fall of the year 1255, in a cheap and crowded inn in the Attre region, a merry fuss reigned in the great hall. Many people took refuge when a shower of icy water had begun to fall on the village, quickly turning the soil into a quagmire punctuated by more and more larger puddles.

In a corner of the room, Moira was sitting alone at one of the wooden tables which had seen many travellers before her, as evidenced by the many stains of wine, beer and stabbing having cut some loaves of bread. Leaning on the table and her chin in hand she was manipulating the coins lying in front of her, recounting them one more time. Then she carefully put them in the leather purse she wore on her belt before unfolding a map.

Looking at the map she found the village where she was and pointed at it before gently pulling her finger up the road. As it moved eastward, towards the Amell Mountains, her lips shook noiselessly, exposing her silent reflections. When she reached Samoëns, where Hannah lived, she sighed and smiled slightly.

_Good, if I’m still going at this rate in twenty days I would be there. And for a change, I still have plenty of money._

She was eager to meet Hannah and Aran. She was starting to miss them and she was looking forward to their homecoming. This year had been good for her, she had come to understand how to effectively approach the villagers to get the contracts and even negotiate. It was something that would have been unthinkable in her first years on the Path, where it was already a miracle when she was able to get a contract. She was in a hurry to be able to tell her dearly and loving husband the story about the contract she had on this katakan or how she lifted the curse that had turned this girl into a harpy.

She had thought of narrating her adventures in a letter but preferred to tell him in person so she waited, moreover the letters tended to get lost. The last one from Aran dated from June, Moira had replied but had not received any letters since. It did not matter now, because she was going to join him soon.

She left a few coins for the waitress who came to clear the plate and the empty glass, readjusted her hood and went up to the little room she rented. Before falling asleep, lying in bed, she read his last letter one more time. Unlike her he had no trouble expressing his emotions and his letters reflected the love he had for her, this one was no exception. The witcheress ran through the words with a smile on her lips before folding the mail and placing it on her bedside table. When she blew the candle with an Aard's instinctive gesture and plunged under her sheets, she fell asleep peacefully.

 

A month later she finally arrived at the village of Samoëns. Her mare had injured one paw during the ride and had delayed Moira who had chosen to wait for her horse to fully recover before returning to the road. The first snows had already fallen when she arrived at the wooden house with the roof already covered with a light layer of snow, cut by a chimney spewing its smoke. After taking her horse to the stable she entered without knocking, she was at home here, and found Hannah knitting by the fireplace.

As she approached, she had a little bit of emotion when she saw her adoptive mother. The old woman seemed to have aged suddenly since their last meeting. Squeezed on herself, Moira could guess her thinness despite the different layers of woollen sweaters surrounding her body. Hannah did not seem to have heard or seen her approach and only looked up when the witcheress squatted just before her and took her hands in hers.

"Moira, is that you? "

“Hi Mom, yes it’s me. How are you? ”

"I'm getting old... That’s not pleasant you know. I'm glad you don’t have to suffer this pity as fast as me. Anyways, where is Aran? " Moira raised a surprised eyebrow.

"What do you mean? Has he not arrived yet? "

“He’s not with you? Since I didn’t see you arriving either, I thought you were together...”

"I had a setback on the road, I guess it must be the same for him. It would not be the first time.”

“Yeah, probably. I received one of his letters two weeks ago giving me some news and he was fine. "

If the little old woman still had enough vision, she would have seen the young witcheress frowning at her words. Moira got up and suggested to her to cook the meal, dinner time approaching.

The next day she checked from time to time the arrival of Aran, in vain. One day passed, then another, but still no sign of the witcher. She began to worry and to reflect, it was not his style to do that.

"Mom, in his last letter did Aran tell you anything about his projects? Did he tell you if he planned to winter elsewhere than here? "

"Mmh not all, his letter was rather banal you know. Don’t worry, I'm sure he just had no choice but to spend the winter in an inn. You know how he has the sense of realities, with the snow that arrived early this year he had to get stuck somewhere and not be able to continue his road so far. " She nodded. She had been almost stuck herself in the road with the first snow. If she was him, she would not have tried either. Now the snow was covering everything with a thick coat, making the roads practically impassable.

Waiting for sunny days was all she could do now. There were both sides of winter: it offered you the insulation, which could be warm and sweet when you were with your beloved, but it seemed that time went so slowly when you were away from each other.

Fortunately, Hannah was there and Moira was able to help the old woman as much as she could and spent special moments with her. Both of them realized that there were probably not much more years to share together...

When spring arrived the witcheress did not leave immediately after the melting of snow, preferring to wait for the return of Aran who would not fail to join them whenever he could. However, he did not and the two women began to seriously worry. The spring was already quite advanced now and the bright green trees were housing the first chicks when Moira decided to leave.

With the money she had saved before she agreed with the neighbour on helping Hannah in her day-to-day life. Olga, it was her name, was a young woman who had just settled down the year before with her husband and whose sweet air had made a good impression on Moira.

 

On the back of her mare, she went looking for him, heading north. Naturally, she went to his last known address, the Cauldron inn in Vergen, from where she knew he had sent his last letters. The place was far away and she arrived a week later. Using a portrait that she had tried to draw as accurately as possible, she asked people:

“Please, have you seen this man?”

The owner of the inn, drawing in his hand, explained to her that yes he remembered him. It must be noted that it was not every day he hosted a witcher in his place. Aran had been there for a while and had left at the end of the fall.

"Would you know where he left? Did he tell you anything? "

"No Miss. He was polite and always paid in time, so I never bothered him with personal questions."

"Sorry-" the dwarf added, seeing the dejected look of Moira. "All I remember is that he took the road heading north. But after that, obviously, I didn’t follow him. "

"I understand. Thank you for your help. "

She did not waste time and went on the indicated route. On her way she did not fail to question the people she met, tirelessly:

“Have you seen this man?”

Unfortunately, not all people were as friendly as the dwarven innkeeper. Some refused to answer her outright, calling her freak, monster whore or other sweet names before moving on quickly.

Not knowing exactly where to look she ran through different cities at random. The money was not infinite so soon she had to make some contracts in her way, but without any form of enthusiasm because these contracts, although necessary, were making her wasting time.

About three months later she was in Oxenfurt, where she had arrived the night before around midnight. She went to the first inn she passed and the next morning got up early to begin her search. As usual, she inquired of the inhabitants and was pleasantly surprised when a guard finally answered her:

"Yes, I recognize this man. He did us a big favor by slaying those creatures that infested the area. Here, look Lionel, it's him, right? "

The second guard took the paper that was handed to him and looked quickly.

"Oh yeah, it's the master witcher, no doubt. Nice drawing, you're quite skilled.” He replied before looking up at a Moira who was staring at him, wide-eyed.

Uncomfortable he waddled on his feet in front of her.

"When did he leave? Where did he go? I beg you to tell me."

"When? On the latest news, he's still here, uh... "

"He stays at the Bannered Mare inn I think. I met him the other day while going to have a drink after ... "

The witcheress did not hear the end of this exciting story, she was already quickly back on her mare before slamming the reins. Keivit neighed and galloped down the alleyways, under the villagers' shocked cries, when they did not scream in fear to be getting knocked by the mare.

 

Quickly, she arrived in front of the inn and did not even wait for the complete stop of Keivit to go down. She pushed the door and went to the holder who was in conversation with two men leaning on the bar, while he was wiping a mop with a cloth that deserved a little washing.

"I'm looking for a witcher named Aran. Is he here?” asked informally the newcomer.

The innkeeper looked down at her, annoyed at being interrupted in this way.

"You’ll wait until I finish… "

Moira did not and asked again, only getting a shifty glance from the man. She took a few steps back and looked around the room, looking for something. When she found the stairs, she stepped forward and walked up to them quickly.

"Hey, you! You can’t go there like that without paying before! "

She did not care and finished climbing the steps to find herself at the edge of a long corridor, the wooden floor worn by all the steps of temporary tenants. A series of doors lined up on each side.

With a pounding heart, Moira closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, her fists clenched to hurt. Taking a big breath of air, she felt a panel of different smells: soap, sweat, woollen, leather associated with metal, oils.

She opened her eyes. She recognized the smell of leather and metal that could very well correspond to a witcher's armor, although it could also come from something else. Mmm and the last scent... necrophage oil, she was sure of it. Focusing on that smell she followed the light fragrance and reached the third door on the right. It was ajar and Moira entered without knocking.

The room, though small, was messy and empty. The bed stuck to the left wall was undone. Some belongings, flasks and a few sheets were lying on the floor as if they had been left there hurriedly. A small cabinet in the back under the dormer window showed empty drawers which had not been bothered to be closed.

She remained stunned as she walked slowly through the room, observing all she could. It was not necessary to be a detective or a witcher to quickly understand what happened here: the occupier had obviously gathered his stuff hastily before leaving, without looking back.

Her breathing became difficult, she felt like a constraint imprisoning her chest while her heart was beating fast and her rib cage was working with difficulty. She ends up sitting on the bed, eyes blank. The smell of Aran was everywhere, emanating from the sheets of the bed she was standing on at that moment. There was no doubt that the witcher spent some time and stood there recently, perhaps even a few hours ago.

_Why, Aran? What are you doing? What’s going on?_

She leaned over and picked up a sheet of paper and watched the drawing on it. Frowning, she picked up another, and another one again.

Some sketches of Moira, with this damn rounded belly again. Annoyed, the woman snapped her tongue and dropped the sketches. Those who followed didn’t reassure her at all, her mate seemed to have gone further in his idea and drew pictures of a baby, a baby with cat eyes. It was true that the sketches were strikingly realistic and each of the portraits of babies and then young children seemed to represent one and the same person over years.

A baby, then a little toddler in Moira's arms who looked like her, apart from the cheekbones that were Aran's ones. On the last one a little girl with cat eyes who struggled to hold a sword as big as her, while a very old Hannah was standing near her, attentive.

The innkeeper was serving a beer to a customer when he saw the witcheress coming down the stairs. Disgruntled, he was about to challenge her but she approached herself. He wanted tell her the depths of his thought but when he saw her eyes at once full of anger, pain and ... a glimmer of madness? He shuddered and restrained himself a little:

“Hey, you can’t go upstairs annoying my clients like that. What do you want?”

“The Witcher. When did he go?”

“He’s still housing here. What are you talking about?”

"His room is empty and there is nothing left, so don’t lie to me," she retorted angrily, staring at the innkeeper with furious eyes. " - Where is he?”

"Wow, calm down m’lady, I don’t know I swear. He arrived about three weeks ago I think. A nice guy, I sympathized with him. Why are you looking for him? "

“Did he tell you when he planned to leave in the first place? “

"No, he didn’t. I don’t think he wanted to leave any time soon, he seemed to enjoy being here. People like him, especially the young ladies who find him quite attractive even if he does not... "

He did not see the punch come crashing down on his face. Holding his nose bleeding profusely, he only opened his eyes after a moment to see the woman in front of him. Good God if a glance could kill, he would have been dead right now, he was not likely to forget these furious eyes anytime soon. After taking a deep breath, Moira brutally placed some coins on the counter:

"Sorry”. She said before leaving the inn without turning around.

 

Night had already fallen for several hours when her mare refused to go one step further. Her mistress had forced her to gallop all day and she was now exhausted. Leaving a moment of her reflections the witcheress blamed herself a bit. She went down from Keivit before taking her to the side of the road, where the appetizing green grass was growing.

Once the campfire was on Moira sat down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her folded legs and chin on her lap. The anger that had inhabited her had descended and despondency took her. She did not understand what was happening, why did Aran leave hurriedly? He had gone in haste the very day she arrived, it could not be a coincidence.

_He is running away from someone…Me. Or at least a witcher? But why?_

She tried to put the elements of the puzzle back together, as she had done all afternoon, but this time she did not succeed. The few drawings she had found on the floor especially were disturbing her. She thought he got over the idea of having, he had not talked to her anymore for some time and she had not seen these famous sketches since she had confessed how much they hurt her.

The pressure around her chest was too strong, she stopped struggling and she indulges in her grief. Something she had not done for a long time, she started to cry, hiccupping, taking sudden gusts of air regularly after having forgotten to breathe. Keivit turned her head at a moment to those sobs, she had never heard her mistress emit those sounds before.

When the tears dried up, Moira felt a little more soothed. After a while she became rational enough to return to the least dramatic hypothesis she had found to her husband's behavior:

_He's running someone or something, that's for sure. Could he be threatened by someone? I do not see why he would flee me, that makes no sense. I don’t understand._

 

She decided the next day to give him time. If he wanted to hide he had to have good reasons to do it and he would eventually explain to her, she chose to trust him. Taking her mare at a slower pace, she reached the nearest town the next day and decided to settle there for some time. Changing her habits of going unnoticed, this time she went around the city without her hood without concern. She introduced herself to many people, especially travelers.

She wanted to be known, if Aran was trying to contact her it would be much more easy for him to do it if he knew where she was. She took the opportunity to clean the place of the monsters, which people were grateful to her.

A positive effect occurred, which she had not thought of and was unaccustomed to: people started to tolerate her and even count her as one of them. She could not hide that it was nice for once to be seen as a normal person and worthy of socializing with.

One late afternoon, she returned to the inn where she was staying and sat in her usual place at the counter. She looked for Nola the waitress, after making eye-contact this one nodded and approached.

"Good evening Moira. How are you? "

"I'm fine, thanks. I would like a pint, please. "

"Mmh, I'll serve you later. Someone has asked you and is waiting for you there. A witcher. “

Moira jumped to her feet, almost dropping the stool on which she had sat. As she climbed the steps quickly, Nola shouted at her:

"Room 4! "

Climbing the last steps like a fury she bumped against someone coming down, wrapped in a cloak. Moira groaned a quick apology but the person did not move, barring the way.

She finally looks up, crossing another pair of cat eyes.


	15. Muridae, Felidae, Equidae

“Morrigan!”

“Wow, look at this hasty witcheress!”

“…Ok, that’s just you.”

“Yeah, _just me_ as you say,” she said before adding in front of her deeply disappointed look

“Thank you for this warm welcome, I am happy to see you again too.”

Morrigan went next to her fellow as this one walked down the steps without saying a word. She followed her into the tavern, then across the city without any respite.

“Why are you following me? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Come on Moira, I didn’t travel for nothing. When I heard you were currently hanging around

Oxenfurt, I couldn’t resist the urge to see my good old pal. “

"Well, here you go. Happy? "

“More or less. So, what’s the craic? Do you want to take a drink and talk, remembering the good old days? Come on, it’s my round. "

Moira sighed and stopped before staring at her. Morrigan had not changed and would probably never change: tall, her long black hair waving around her..... just so gorgeous.

“Why not, after all at that point I have nothing to lose. Let’s go back.”

 

The two women sat around a table and ordered a first drink. The glances of the brunette one toward some men in the tavern didn’t remain unnoticed by Moira, who could not escape a smile.

“You haven’t changed at all as I can see.”

“Same for you, prudish girl. So, how is the Path?”

"The last years were quite rewarding, nothing to complain about. But this one ... let's say that work is not my main concern right now. "

“There’s trouble brewing with Aran? So, what about all your promises? It was so cute that I almost cried at your wedding you know.”

Moira's amused smile changed into a grimace. She ended her drink at one gulp and recommended a second in the wake, Morrigan did the same. The alcohol was strong and both had an empty stomach at this moment so they could already feel the first effects.

"You are both stubborn. I was surprised when I met him in Novigrad, on his own. I asked him where you were and he explained to me that you were just doing a separate road as usual. " The chestnut haired witcheress raised her head at those words:

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?! When and how? What did he say to you exactly?”

“Calm down girl! Okay, I think it was something like three weeks ago now, I’ve just arrived in Novigrad to…spend some good time. This city doesn’t lack pleasures of all kind you know…”

“…”

“You don’t? Well, you can be very ingenuous sometimes. To make it short, I went to a tavern to take a drink or two and recognized Aran, so I joined him.”

“How was he? How did he react when he saw you, did he try to flee?”

“Why would he do that? He didn’t, I can’t say he welcomed me warmly that’s true, but he didn’t kick me off his table either when I joined him. Actually, we had a good drinking night all together at the end, him, I and some other people from the pub he was chatting with before I arrived.”

Morrigan saw her comrade squeeze her glass very hard, her hands twisting around and the knuckles whitening. Moira looked up and seemed to space out, frowning.

“Oh no, that’s not what you think. Aran is eye-catching I don’ deny it, but nothing happened between us. I’m not interested and he neither.”

“I know that, I don’t care. Did he speak about me? Please, Morrigan that’s important.”

She shrugged her shoulders: "Quickly, as I said he just told me that you were on a separate road as you regularly do. He told me that you were in Oxenfurt right now. I still find it weird that he refused my offer to come with me to see you here. It's only a day away. "

Moira sighed, ordered two more glasses, then another two before finally telling her about Aran's vanishing.

“Oh shit, I am really sorry…That’s what I am meant to say?”

“Yeah, sure. You, feeling sorry for me? I didn’t forget how you treated me when we were novices. "

"Rooh it is over now. Everyone changes ... And then you know, I realized something. Humans basically hate us, so I reciprocate with pleasure. I take from them what I want and for the rest, they can get lost."

The brunette violently slammed her almost empty mug, spraying drops of vodka on her and on the table before adding, in a drunken voice:

“But you…you are like me. I love you, Moira.”

This one burst out laughing at these words, a loud laugh that caught the attention of other customers.

“The only person you love is yourself, Morrigan. Okay maybe not, you love men too. Hell, sure you love them, naughty girl!”

“I’ve never hidden it. Hey, we have a longer youth than normal, so we should enjoy our bodies, right? "

“That’s not wrong, I suppose. Oh, that makes me think and I never told you, but when we were novices I caught you one night. In the course of heated passion with two boys. Oops! "

"Oh, maybe that little Moira is not so innocent at the end. Did you often leer at me? What would your dear and loving husband say if he knew that! "

“Can we talk about anything but him? Mister is just around the corner having fun while I’m sticking around here, waiting for him like a moron and he definitely knows that…Hey Nola! Give us another drink please!” she grumbled as she slowly turned, her head spinning dangerously.

The waitress gave a quick glance at the two women, judging their level of drunkenness before shaking her head.

“Sorry, I pass. Go to bed Moira, you’re dead drunk and getting sick will not solve your problems.” Morrigan concluded before getting up without swaying, that is was surprising in regard to the amount of alcohol she had drunk.

Instead of heading for the stairs leading to her bedroom she approached one of the men who seemed to have caught her eye, before bending down and whispering something in his ear… offering a breathtaking view of her cleavage at the same time. Moira rolled her eyes, finished the last droplets of her mug and staggered up to her bed.

 

The next day and quite late in the morning, Moira was busy grooming her faithful mare, taking care of her horse was something she never neglected, hangover or not. Using a hard-bristle brush, also called dandy brush, she brushed Keivit in short, flicking motions, after having already brushed it a first time to remove dead hair and dirt.

She had just finished this second brushing when she saw Morrigan grab another curry comb and start grooming her own horse next to her.

"Have you had a good night, Morrigan?” She implied.

"Wonderful. You should walk a little more on the wild side, like me. It would benefit you. "

Moira sighed in silence. She dropped the dandy brush to replace it with a soft one, in order to make Keivit’s hair shine.

"When are you leaving? "She asked as she was gently caring for the mare's head.

"I don’t know. If you ask me nicely, I can stay a few more days. "

Straightening, she met her companion's gaze over their respective mounts.

"Why not? "

 

Thus, Morrigan stayed for almost a week. It was quite weird for Moira but she realized that the brunette said true, she had changed, on some points at least. Certainly, she had not forgotten her behaviour, especially in their las Trial at Maribor but she decided to override it.

Who was she after all to judge her? A lot has changed since then and she had also dirtied her own hands. And aside from her mocking attitude, she had to admit that spending time with her was finally far from unpleasant, the woman had humour and audacity.

On the morning of her departure, she had knocked early at Moira’s bedroom door.

“It’s me, Morrigan. Can I step in?”

“Yes come in.”

The witcheress was sat on the edge of her bed, already dressed and was braiding her hair.

Morrigan sat behind her on the bed, grabbed her hair and helped without her asking anything.

"So, what do you plan about Aran? "

“I…I still have no idea.”

“Can I give you my opinion?”

“If I say no, you’ll still do it anyway.”

“Indeed. Stop waiting stupidly here like a useless princess waiting for the return of her prince. It's really pathetic. "

Moira turned the head toward her, making her half-finished braid leap from Morrigan’s hands and it immediately came undone.

“Make a decision: try to find him again and sort out your problems. Or forget him and maybe act like me, try to flit from guy…or girl to another. You’re the only one who can decide here, you’re worth too much to be pampered like a delicate thing.”

Although she could not fully see her face, her fine chestnut hair having returned to hide it in part,

Moira seemed quite upset. Morrigan was pleased because that was the goal, to make her sit up.

She got up before risking to get slapped and left the room.

Morrigan was holding her horse by the reins out of the stable when she saw her comrade arrive, fully equipped with armour, swords and a bag she was holding on her shoulder.

“Are you going?”

“Yes, it pisses me off to admit it but you’re right. It’s time to move in one way or the other. I think

I just needed someone to…. kick my ass.”

“You’re welcome. You know how much I love to kick your little pretty chubby butt.” “Farewell Morrigan. Good luck on the Path.”

 

Moira started straight for Novigrad, ready to start the Cat-and-Mouse game again.

Once, then a second, and another one after that Sir Mouse won this little game, running away each time Lady Cat seemed ready to put her hand on him and leaving her alone and always disappointed. He also evaded the couriers, dismissing unceremoniously and especially without the outline of an answer the street urchins who were sent to him in exchange for a few coins.

One day, Lady Cat finally realized that she was only pursuing the mouse stubbornly and out of habit. She was starting to face up the reality: if Sir Mouse was running away from her, it was just that he did not want to hear about her anymore. Any other theory was a lie that she made to herself to hide the simple truth.

Which was simply that she did not attract him anymore, as she was not worthy of interest for anyone else.

Now it was her, and only her.

 

Yet she was very wrong on this point, Hannah cared and loved her sincerely. But Moira was selfishly too centred on her own concerns and did not even realize that she was cowardly turning her back on her adoptive mother, just like Aran did with her.

At first, it is true that she had simply forgotten to contact her or visit, too focused on her research. Then she started to feel ashamed when she realized that. Rather than face her responsibilities and return to Samoëns, she found excuses to postpone this moment that would surely be embarrassing, it was after all much easier to stick her head in the sand.

Thus, for almost eight years the witcheress did not return to Hannah's home – her own home, nor did she send letters. Instead, she continued to go on the Path, alone, inquiring from time to time about Aran more by principle than by real motivation. She tried to nip in the bud the slightest hope that continued to be born in her, though less and less often.

 

On a beautiful June night, without knowing exactly what had driven her out of the isolation she had put in herself, Moira arrived in the village of Samöens. As Keivit brought her closer to

Hannah's house, she was aware of her childish behaviour and was afraid of her mother's reaction. Was she going to forgive her? How could she tell her that she had never been able to find Aran, all these efforts for nothing in the end?

The night had already fallen for a while and the house was in complete darkness when she turned her key in the door and pushed it. Fearing to wake Hannah up, she did not linger in the silent house and headed straight for the stairs. At the same time, she noticed a stale and accumulated dust smell which made her frown:

_Oh, Olga, we agreed that you should help Mom for the housework. I haven’t sent you this money for years for nothing, we'll have a little discussion you and me tomorrow._

Once upstairs she hesitated to light a candle, she had her stomach knotted while she looked around her. The room had not changed an inch since her last visit, yet it seemed so different now. The place that had seemed so comfortable to her, like her little nest, seemed almost colder than an inn room now. And above all, each element flowed with memories of her and Aran.

His sketches pinned on the walls. The bed in which they had spent so much time cuddling – among others. The dormer window in the back near which they used to sit together to enjoy the sunshine.

She felt her stomach tighten a little more and before she let herself submerge - it was over, she could not let herself discouraged by his desertion anymore - she undressed and slipped under the duvet that she pulled up over her head.

The next day she awoke at down after a restless night. With a tired face, she went down the stairs after getting dressed. Her anxiety was over and she was now eager to find Hannah, to ask her forgiveness, that she would not fail to give her because she was her mother, quite simply and naturally. The witcheress could not find her in the kitchen, either in the dining room.

Weird, her mother used to get up early in the morning. Moira remembered the many times Hannah and Aran had kindly mocked her when she got up late in the morning and arrived in the dining room with drowsy eyes.

She went to the cellar and felt a shiver on her back when she saw that it was completely empty, not a vegetable, not a jar of dried food was there. With apprehension, she went to knock on the door of the second bedroom, waited in vain for an answer and entered.

The little room was empty. A stale smell hovered even louder here than in the rest of the house. The double bed which was in the centre and which took up a good part of the room was empty too, without any sheet, showing only a bare mattress.

Moira turned and left the house to go to Olga's one. Weary, deep down inside she had already understood the truth...

When the neighbour opened the door, the visitor got an unfriendly look.

“Hi Olga, we need to talk. Can I come in?”

“Mom, who’s that?” asked a little boy, maybe 3 or 4 years old, visibly scared by the stranger he was staring at as he clung to his mother's skirts.

It must be said that the witcheress also did not seem very kind at this time and the sight of the kid was not to make her feel more comfortable. Olga moved up to let her in and closed behind them.

“What happened to Hannah? When?”

The young woman squeezed her lips and asked the child to go play in his room. When he was gone she crossed her arms and replied curtly:

"You finally remembered our existence?"

"I left for a good reason that’s none of your business. I… "

"It's none of my business? And who has cared for Hannah these past years? You? Aran? No, it's me. To answer you, it's been two years since she passed away. Oh, don’t worry, _even if it's too late to play the daughter who cares_ , she left without suffering in her sleep, of old age."

She stopped and watched for the witcheress reaction. This one had a poker face and was staring at her but without really seeing.

"You have nothing to say? That’s all you feel? Oh man, Moira, why didn’t you ever give her any news? I know you were looking for your husband, Hannah told me, but that's not an excuse. "

“I’m not sure I know what to say.”

“Well, for my part I know exactly what to say. She didn’t want me to overwhelm you but there’s no reason that I don’t do it. You hurt her so much to abandon her like that. I know she was trying not to show it but I could see the pain it was doing to her. How she watched your news in vain, always looking more disappointed each time. "

_Exactly the same way Aran treated me…_

Moira lowered her eyes and let Olga scold her like a little girl, though she was much younger than herself. She was right, she had only childishly thought of her own problems. Her meagre concern she had dramatized so much while…What, exactly? Her man dumped her without any word, yes for sure and so, was she the first in this case? Hell no, far from that. Will she survive it? Of course, there was no need to act so melodramatically.

“…Are you listening?”

“No, I’m not, sorry. Go on.”

"She left me her testament, having no other family you inherit their house and all their belongings."

“Where does she rest? Next to Hermann, I guess?”

“Yeah, sure she does.”

Olga sighed and softened a little in front of the witcheress who seemed finally to show some signs of sorrow.

“What are you going to do? Did you find him at least? "

"No, and I don’t think I'll succeed someday. All for nothing…I’m so sorry Olga. "

“What’s done is done, no need to talk more about it. I think it’s time for you to leave, Moira. Farewell.”

 

She nodded and went out without turning back. Later that morning, Moira was standing motionless in front of a gravestone and left only a long time later, after laying a wreath on the grave. For the second time that day she knocked at the door of- it was now officially the case - her neighbour.

“What is going on? I don’t really want to talk to you anymore.” Olga said with a tired tone.

"I'm leaving right now, coming back on the Path. The house is yours and Tomas, I have no reason to stay here. As you said earlier, this is you who took care of her all these years until the end, you deserve it much more than me. "

Still on the doorstep, Moira looked up at the young couple's house as she as saying those last words. The wooden building was really small and in quite a bad state. In comparison, the residence of Hannah and Hermann looked like a real palace when it was actually just a humble traditional chalet, as many others in this area could be found.

“Are you sure? It's your legacy after all, even if I hold some grudges I don’t want to go against Hannah's last wishes."

"Yes, I thought about it and I'm sure. From now on I'm alone and I don’t need such a home, unlike you, Tomas and ... your children. "

She had said these last words in a more acerbic tone that did not escape the young woman, who did not insist because she did not want to comfort her anyway.

“Well, if that's what you want, I'm not going to say no. "

She hesitated to say thank you but the grudge she had was still there and she asked her instead:

"Where are you going now? "

"There or elsewhere, it doesn’t matter. That's how we are supposed to live after all, us witchers. "

“Farewell….and take care of yourself, Moira.”

“Thank you and farewell. Once and for all this time. "

 

She set out directly, moving away from her old home and her old life. Without Aran and her adoptive parents, this place no longer meant anything for her and she left without hesitation.

Back on the Path, she resumed the kind of life she was intended for and went from contract to contract and from place to place. A few years later she met Morrigan and Aiden again and she could feel a sincere and deep joy, the first time in a long time.

Indeed, she had heard of the destruction of the school of the Cat the previous winter and the massacre of witchers who were here at this moment. The two of them had been able to escape in time and had decided to ride together for a while. Moira asked them about the others and learned with relief that Aran was not present during the attack… unlike Naessa who had perished.

Who would have thought that Moira would be happy to see Morrigan again one day? Not her anyway, just as she would not have believed to learn the death of her former childhood friend and not to be especially affected.

Seeing the two witchers together made Moira reflect. One day, when she met on a random village where she was working a rather attractive man who seemed also interested in her, she did not miss the opportunity and allowed herself to spend some good time with him.

She quickly turned a blind eye to guilt, to repeat the experience when the opportunity arose from time to time along her way. This did not change the fact that she was still alone and could only rely on herself, never staying sufficient time in the same place to give these furtive encounters a real chance. But anything that could make her keep moving and let the past behind her was good to take, and actually, it was effective.

Was she miserable? No. Did she have a purpose in life? Not really, but was it totally necessary to live? Neither.

She was just experiencing the average witcher’s lifestyle.


	16. Sauvignon Blanc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the present time with Regis and Moira.

Moira and Regis moved away from the festivities, at a quiet pace. Side by side, she led him to the hill overlooking the estate, the same one she had talked to Ciri earlier the same day. At the top, both of them sat down in the thick green grass. Seeing him take off his shoes, she did the same and enjoyed the contact with the strands of herbs that caressed and tickled soles of her feet.

He opened the bottle she had brought and poured two glasses, before handing one to her.

“To Geralt.”

“And to _Us_ ” She added, tinkling her glass against his.

“You’re right, it fully deserves to be marked.”

She finished her drink and looked down. The scene reminded her of another night in his company, years earlier. The context was very different, the heat of Toussaint contrasting with the snowy landscape of the last time, but something seemed similar to her. A smirk appeared on her face, which did not remain unnoticed by him:

"May I ask you to share what's on your mind? "

"I thought back to that famous night after we met, where we also shared a bottle under the full moon. I was just thinking that this time, hopefully, the evening will definitely end in a better way."

"Indeed, but I tend to mostly remember the positive occurrences, especially our first kiss. "

 

Moira turned around. He was right, she remembered that at that moment she had badly accepted his vampiric nature but she had also been able to know him better and this event had bonded them in the end.

Remembering how this happened the first time, she sat closely next to him. Very slowly, she leaned over and kissed him gently. This time he put his right arm around her waist and did not let go of her, keeping her against him when their kiss ended.

“Can you wait for me here for a few minutes? I'll be right back, "she finally said after a moment, getting up.

He nodded and let her go, intrigued and during that time he contemplated the Toussaint’s sky. The moon was only a faint crescent, its dim light letting the numerous stars appear even more bright in the black ink sky. He thought about the view that must be seen from the ruins of Tesham Mutna and noted that he should take Moira there one day - outside, not inside the ruins of course. He was glad to know that she was sensitive to this kind of scenery and wanted to share it with her. Sitting on the grass, one leg folded under the other, he was lost in thought while a bird had just landed close to him.

When Moira returned a few minutes later, he was still there reading something in his notebook, a crow on his shoulder. The bird seemed to trust in Regis but obviously much less in her because it flew away as she got closer. She pulled her dress over her knees and knelt beside him, hands resting on her lap.

"I was gone looking for this," she replied showing her own letter.

"I'm glad you keep your commitment. I'm all ears ".

He put away his notebook and turned his attention to her. Moira chuckled and with a exaggerate gesture, threw the letter over her shoulder.

"But I realized while I was coming back that I didn’t need that. "

Gazing each other, he let her take his hands in hers and waited, knowing already what was going to happen but that did not stop him from waiting for this moment with excitement. She hesitated, searching for words and finally broke their eye contact.

_Too bad,_ he thought, but he knew that expressing feelings was not the easiest thing for her and if it could make her feel more at ease he would deal with it.

"Regis, what I wrote in this letter is true. I know that I have never told you clearly what I feel for you but... I love you. Phew, it's said. Excuse me, I'm not good with words like you are. There are many things I'm not sure about but what I’m sure is that my love for you is real and sincere. I'm sorry I haven't tell you sooner, though I have stopped having doubts for a long time now. "

She paused for a moment, catching her breath. He remained silent waiting for the next. He felt her hands shake slightly and pressed them, wanting to reassure her. It was not the most sophisticated confession he ever had for sure, but he felt that every word came out of her heart without a filter, and it moved him a little more than he would have thought.

"I am so happy with you. When I think back how we met I tell myself that I was so lucky. After all, think about how it was improbable. If ever I had not accepted this contract in Dillingen, or if I had dodged this attack from the Leshen I would never have been hurt. I would not have fallen into this icy pond and in the end, I would never have crossed your path ... Well, I’m going astray. I

wanted to tell you that no matter how much time we get together, I will cherish it. I… "

She seemed to lose the thread of her thought and he dropped her hands to cuddle her against him.

“Take all the time you need Moira, there’s no rush.”

She shook her head. She had the feeling to start talking like one of those heroines of mushy romance novels ... But oh, whatever. She knew how it worked if she did not finish now what she wanted to tell him she was not sure to find such an opportunity anytime soon. Let's go like this if that was her spontaneous talking way.

"I don’t know if you feel the same thing. I don’t want to dictate anything to you but ... I want to be with you, Regis. I don’t want to get away from you anymore. When I think of the future, I don’t know what could happen but I want to live it together. "

She drew back, her eyes locked on a dandelion whose she was nervously removing the petals, and added in a lower tone:

"I know I'm just human, well not exactly but that’s not the point... When I talk about our future I'm mostly talking about mine. For you, the time we could spend together will be only one tiny part of your long life but I hope that during this time I will bring you as much happiness as you bring me...

"... And if that's not the case, well, I trust you to simply tell me. Seeing you disappear without a word would be the worst thing you could do. Don’t just do the same thing to me as Aran did. "

When the poor dandelion lost its last petals, she threw the stem away and finally looked up at him, who had refrained from a single word during her monologue.

“Mm, I’m done.”

Regis was staring at her with a nondescript face so she was unable to guess what was in his mind.

"Come here.” He said, unfolding his leg.

Moira lay on her back, her head on his lap. With one hand he gently stroked her hair, it was very pleasant and she closed her eyes. She opened them when he grabbed her chin and turned her face to him and she met his black eyes. A broad smile on the face.

"Regis, don't feel compelled to tell me anything in return. I just wanted to tell you that ... I love you. And I’m glad I have done it. "

"I don’t feel compelled at all be reassured, I am delighted that you disclosed yourself to me. I cannot say, and no one could probably do if what you, humans call to love and what we, vampires, feel has exactly the same implication ... But there are unequivocally common features. "

If Moira was not lying there on him right now, in a tender way she would have had the impression of having followed a little philosophy class. A lecture.

She felt a jolt in her chest as the corners of her lips contracted. She did her best to restrain herself, but soon she had no choice to let a chuckle escape, then she laughed frankly. Leaning over, he looked slightly offended.

"Moira, I beg you to be a little more serious, if you make fun of me explain at least the reason for your hilarity, I don’t think I said anything that... "

"Oh no, no Regis, I’m not making fun! It's just that...Knowing you, I imagined this moment otherwise, I imagined that you would find a refined and elegant way to confess - if you ever wanted to do it. And at the end… "

Another laugh took her and she could not finish her sentence. Her hilarity was contagious and when she caught her breath he also seemed amused.

"Is this the scholar style to tell me that you love me too? I like it a lot. "

"Precisely. This is my own manner to tell that I share your feelings, my sweet Moira. "

He leaned over as she stood up on her elbows and they kissed softly. She rested her head and both looked tenderly at each other for a while as if nothing else existed around them.

At least that's the feeling she had at this moment, the tension and apprehension she had felt had vanished and remained only joy and serenity. However, after a while, Regis seemed to think of something else.

To be more exact, two points were currently going around his head. The first concerned the ghost of the past of which Moira had just spoken briefly. He had promised himself that at her next evocation of Aran he would have to talk to her about him, but it was not the ideal situation and that could wait the next day.

And concerning the second point…

 

"Moira, I have a request to make. I hope it doesn’t seem untimely, I don’t wish to ruin such a lovely evening. It's a little tricky, do you remember our discussion this morning? "

She pondered. This morning? She remembered talking about the night before, her own letter, and...

“I do.”

She realized at that moment that he had left his hand on her neck, thumb against her carotid artery and she felt her own pulse under his pressure. Not an easy thing to put herself in a vampire’s shoes but she could imagine what feeling her pulsating blood could raise on him.

"I have not changed my mind, I still agree. But the important question is: how do _you_ feel? Why now?" she asked.

" How do _I_ feel? How ironic, it should be rather to me to ask you this question. Do you feel good enough, not too tired? Nothing obliges you, I ask you as a favour but I will not mind if you decide to withdraw your offer. Regarding your second question… I’m not thirsty and that's why it would be a good opportunity to give a try now. And let's say that your recent speech ended to convince me and if there is one person who can give me confidence in myself and with whom I want to try again it's you.”

“I feel very good, let's go. Tell me what to do. "

"Relax, if you can. Just find a position in which you feel comfortable in."

Moira got up and after a thoughtful moment sat back to him, letting her weight fall to his chest. She felt his hand pushing the few hairs from her neck before putting his lips on it. As the day before he wandered like this for a long time, raising a combination of apprehension and excitement in her. She began fidgeting, tearing off other blades of grass.

"Nervous? Don’t worry about pain or your health, as a witcher you've already seen worse and I don’t doubt an instant that you ... "

"No Regis, please don’t drag this out it’s killing me. I'm not afraid, it's precisely this suspense that fusses me. "

"Excuse me, Moira.” He said in a breath before returning to her neck and this time stopped making her wait.

Saying the bite was pleasant would be a lie, she frowned and closed her eyes while taking a deep breath. But he was right, she had seen much worst in the past and the gesture of her companion was almost a caress in comparison with bites of werewolves, inferior vampires or other monsters she had crossed before. She focused on their embraced bodies, on the sound of her own breathing rather than on the odd sounds of swallowing.

After several minutes, she felt the time going slowly and was ready to make him understand that it was time to stop. Fortunately, she did not have much to do because he stopped himself, after having pressed on the bite wound to make the blood flow stop. In the end, she felt him lick the last drops of blood that came out after taking out his fangs from her pale skin.

 

Moira turned around. Regis was staying eyes closed and a smile on his face, resting on his hands behind him, head slightly bent. He was visibly in great elation and she didn’t dare to disturb him so she just enjoyed the view of his delighted face until he opened his eyes and met hers.

“How was it?”

He chuckled and suddenly pulled her close to him, planting a loud kiss on her lips. She overrode the slightly metallic taste and gave it back with as much ardour.

"I am grateful it was…pleasant. No, it was delectable or rather exquisite. I had forgotten, oh that taste! Nothing to do with raven’s blood... "

“Excuse me?”

Her question remained unanswered as he stared at her, a broad smile unrestrainedly revealing his sharp teeth. They both stayed there for a moment, him still processing the emotion of blood-drinking after so many years, her almost euphoric to see her mate in this state.

He finally got up, humming to himself and held out his hand. Moira grabbed it and stood up slowly, afraid to have her head spinning in regard to the amount of blood he seemed to have taken but found that she was doing very well. Praise be the robust constitution of the witchers.

She recognized the tune, it was catchy music that could be heard in all the northern kingdoms, from Novigrad to Cintra and never failed to make people dance where it was played.

Besides, it seemed that was the vampire had in mind because he passed an arm around her waist and with the other, he grabbed her hand and held it high. He began to whirl them and this resumed her urge to laugh.

She had never seen Regis like that. Never and ever, even after drinking nice quantities of his strong mandrake drink. He seemed so euphoric and his joy was greatly communicative to the women who loved him. She let herself be dragged into the dance, despite the world that began to sway slightly and they continued to dance, without music, hilarious.

"Regis ... enough please," she finally said as the world was swaying more and more, feeling a flush of heat invade her and heart began to pound in her head.

He stopped and planted several far from chaste kisses. Moira gave him a light tap on his wandering hands which were currently really busy on her backside.

"What if we go to a private area where I could leisurely tear that well too thin dress to pieces?"

"As you wish but I'll let you see the one who lent me this dress? Curious to see what you are going to tell to explain this!" she promptly answered and he released her.

She went to sit down roughly on the ground, panting. Regis was in a better state than his lover and he stood next to her, running his hand through her hair.

"What if we continue our little walk instead?” She suggested when her head stopped spinning.

"With great pleasure my sweet Moira. "

Before getting up, she grabbed the bottle and poured herself another glass of white wine and sipped. It was a Domaine de la Baume, a delicious fresh Sauvignon blanc with flavours of lime and verbena. He was looking at her when he asked almost shyly:

“May I have another drink too?”

It was obvious that he was not talking about wine and the witcheress frowned. He looked good at the moment, just a little euphoric, but she could not guarantee his condition if she let him drink more.

No, it would not be really reasonable. But on the other hand, he seemed so happy right now and she did not want to say no...

_She might not realize it at the moment, but according to the answer she was going to give him, the following events would be very different. Sometimes life is like that and a simple word can have a lot more impact than expected._


	17. Meeting on the Oak

“No.”

"May I ask you why? I indulge myself to insist. "

"No, Regis. If you ask my permission, it's because you leave me the choice, isn’t it? I don’t think that's very reasonable. Another time yes, but not tonight, please. "

His dark eyes passed from her face to her neck where he had already bitten, in a moment of hesitation.

"Wise decision indeed ..." he said, sighing before reaching out to her.

He quickly headed back into a good mood as they were moving forward a small forest of oaks and beeches. The ground was covered with thick moss and large ferns that had not spread their broad leaves yet at this time of year and still looked like bunches of crosiers. The place was very quiet, but not with an oppressive silence, rather a serene calm barely disturbed by the flow of a small river not far from them and the sound of the breeze in the trees.

Moira was gazing up at the foliage of the trees above her. Under the combined effect of euphoria and wine, she felt like she had become a child to whom nothing seemed incongruous, inappropriate or awkward. She wanted to run in the undergrowth. To do a cartwheel. To climb trees.

It was what she was going to do while Regis was watching her, amused. But she realized that her evening dress, as elegant as it was, kept her from expressing her joy as much as she wanted.

Grunting, she grabbed the bottom of her dress, slipped it over her head and let it fall to the floor.

She tossed off her sandals with a gesture of each foot and turned around:

"That's not what you think Regis. "

"I never thought such a thing. "

She laughed and took a few steps, enjoying the contact of the soft ground under her feet. After pondering a second, she lifted one leg and then the other to remove the last piece of fabric hiding her privacy. Certainly, it was not necessary but if she was undressing anyway, she might as well do it entirely, being in the same outfit as the day of her birth.

 

Much freer in her movements, she started to run barefoot on the foam that sank under her weight, leaving slight regular footprints. Still gazing up, she soon spotted a wide, tall oak tree and walked towards it. She gauged the different branches that punctuated the trunk and smiled, satisfied. Without difficulty she climbed the first branch, then a second one. Gaze locked ever higher, she saw a birds nest on the highest branches and a row of small ants up and down the trunk along a road invisible to her.

At some point, she finally stopped climbing to a broad branch that was almost horizontal. Getting up slowly, she stepped one foot after the other in a balancing act, until she stopped halfway. She lay on the branch, one leg on each side along it, and closed her eyes.

For a few minutes, she just listened to the sounds of the leaves moving in the breeze, the hooting of an owl in the distance. She finally opened her eyes again, remembering that she had not come alone and that she was quite rude to let her mate wait for her below.

Through the foliage of the oak she glanced down at the floor, but no sign of Regis where she had left her clothes, or anywhere else.

"He would not have left me alone here, right?"

Still scanning, she felt a movement of air on her bare skin and heard the dull sound of flapping wings. Very wide wings. The branch suddenly bent beneath her and she tightened her hold, while another flapping sound was heard, closer.

She turned around and she didn’t take much time to understand what, or rather who was here.

 

Moments earlier, Regis watched her friend undress before leaving for the forest. He bothered to listen and watch the surroundings, looking for any danger but everything was perfectly peaceful. He knew that Moira could be a little absent minded, but it was still an unusual and reckless thing going naked, without any weapon in a forest at night and potentially inhabited by wolves or other more dangerous creatures... Let's say that it was a good thing that he was more grounded.

Entertained by her innocent and childish behaviour he leaned against a trunk and watched her. She had completely left aside, along with her clothes, her usual restraint to express her joy, and he was pleased to be able to see that.

Revealing ourselves just as we really were, without holding back and without concerning about other’s perception.

It should be wonderful.

Moira had just stopped climbing and was walking slowly along a large horizontal branch when he made his decision. If he wanted to disclose himself to her it was the right time and if he did not do it now he might never have another opportunity to do it again.

Straightening himself, he took off the useless layers of clothes - not wanting to tear them and find himself without any ones afterwards - and let his true nature take over.

Where a few seconds ago was a man, now stood a creature that looked much more like a giant bat. Regis rested his hands ending in five black claws on the ground, simultaneously moving his broad wide membranous wings covered with thin veins. Folding his knees with his muscular black legs, he gathered momentum and leapt. The air swirled around him as he rose, rustling the foliage of the trees. From a few movements of his robust arms, his wings quickly brought him to the largest and old oak of the forest. Not wanting to frighten Moira, he chose to get to the opposite side of where she was lying at the moment, scanning the floor.

He settled as gently as possible on the same branch, between her and the trunk but his current weight made it bend anyway. Using the claws of his feet and hands he stands firmly on the tree and waited in silence for his lover to turn.

When she put her eyes on him he waited patiently, scrutinizing her reaction. If he had decided to turn into his true form and show it to her it was because he trusted her, but sometimes humans could still have obscure behaviour and he was still looking for any sign of fear or disgust.

But neither of them appeared on the witcheress face. She scrutinized him as one would look at a work of art: with curiosity and reflection. She began with his head, lingering on his long ears that protruded either side, before descending on his big, dark, round eyes. She quickly glanced without fear on his long apparent fangs before observing his body, the huge wings, and the clawed feet.

When the examination was over, she met his eyes and smiled:

"You should have done this earlier. You are beautiful. "

He made a low thud, which seemed to come from the depths of his throat and stepped on the branch as she did the same. When she was close enough to him she ensured her grip, tightening her thighs around the tree and stood up, his face a few inches from hers.

Ok, she had to admit he was more impressive now, so close. But she had seen many other creatures before him that were equally so and unlike them, Regis had no intent to harm her, on the contrary. Raising her arms, she gently stroked each side of his jaw before hurrying against him and burying her head in his neck. This part of his body was covered with black fur and its touch was far from unpleasant. She rubbed her face with a sigh, and he passed one of his long arms around her waist, pressing her a little more against him.

"My dear Moira," she heard him say in a strange, grave voice, quite different from his usual one.

"My dear Regis," she replied in return.

There was no need to make long speeches when they could simply show their fondness in this way.

"Would you like to go down now?” He finally asked her.

Moira stepped aside and answered in the affirmative. However, a small problem arose, Regis was between her and the trunk and, unlike him, she could not go down again by flying.

"Hang on my neck, I'll get you down. "

Without any fuss she folded her arms around his neck, mastering her grip for fear of strangling him.

"Tighter, you are not going to hurt me. "

Before she had time to react she saw the trunk scroll past her as they rose slightly, then felt her stomach rise as he dropped while spreading his wide wings. In a few flapping they were on the ground and she released him.

Without embarrassment she allowed herself to examine him one more time. Not only did she not find him repulsive but ... he was oddly attractive. Maybe it was thanks to the dark colour of his skin? His well-shaped muscles in this form? "Or even his fur," she confessed. In her mind. He had a more primal, animal charm than his human form.

She began to feel the well-known sensation from when she found herself in private with him, she decided to listen to her desires and approached him.

 

(1)

The abandoned clothes on the mossy forest floor found their owners later, owners who had dried up after an unexpected midnight bath in a clear water creek not far away from there. At that moment the witcheress dreamed of nothing but a good night's sleep. It must be said that the day was busy, between training, the festivities, their getaway at the top of the old oak and ... especially what happened next.

Grabbing his arm, they went back at a slow pace to Corvo Bianco while chatting. When they approached the path overlooking the estate they perceived a touching scene and advanced in silence so as not to disturb it. Geralt was accompanied by his two precious women, Ciri on the right was half asleep with her head resting on his shoulder and at left Yennefer, who was caressing with her thumb the back of his hand in hers. From behind, Regis and Moira could not see their tired but happy smiles as they were watching the last remains of the festivities beneath them.

When they stepped in the central courtyard, they could see that the party was coming to an end. Most of the guests had gone to bed and it seems that some had not managed to reach their room, like Zoltan and Dandelion lying on the floor, sleeping like babies in front of a small campfire.

Once in their bed, they concluded this sweet night in a pleasant way, with the tenderness they could not really give themselves during their forest activities, the fault of the morphological differences between a giant bat and a human. Later, Moira was quickly falling asleep so she had the greatest difficulty in paying attention to what Regis was asking her:

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow? "

"Mmmh I have a contract to complete. ” She growled half asleep. "Besides, it concerns you, I have questions to ask, how... “

Regis waited for the end of the question that would not come, his mate completely asleep by now. Pensive, he watched her sleep for a moment, stroking her face with his fingertips, before closing his eyes in turn.

 

"Wow stop, where do you think you are going? Are you trying to run away? "

Moira turned around and saw Lambert in front of her, dressed in his full armour and sword in hand, looking at her with a mocking air.

"Hello Lambert, I'm surprised to see you fit so soon after being so drunk last night. "

"White honey, I planned everything. So, where are you going like that, I hope you haven’t forgotten our little duel? "

"No buddy, but _I_ have work to do. This succubus will not kill herself. Well, technically she could but I doubt very much that she will. "

"I see, I remember your discussion with Geralt yesterday. So, how are you going to do?”

"Well, let's do that on the good old witcher’s way. ” She replied, patting the pommel of her sword behind her back.

"That’s a way of talking that I like! Well, keep some energy for me after that, " he said, winking at her before turning around.

Moira checked one last time that she had not forgotten anything about her equipment, mounted her mare, Hollyhock, and set out for Beauclair.

The information gathering and the hunt to find Natanis, because it was the name of the succubus, took her a while and could be the subject of its own story. Like her fellows, the creature was cautious and finding her was not so easy. Moira followed two false trails and had to use the sign of Axii more than once to get information from her known lovers. But her efforts were rewarded and at the very end of the afternoon, the body of the creature was laying lifeless at her feet. The witcheress was panting after the short fight in which she had to give the best of herself to end it quickly, succubi being known for their surprising brute strength.

She seized the dagger at her belt and began a bloody job, the trophy being essential to prove to the noble Toussaintoises that the creature was definitely put away. While separating the head from the body, Moira thought absentmindedly of Regis.

It was a pity she had not the time to ask him how he managed to neutralize the succubus, but when she had woken up this morning he was not at the estate and she could not find him. Once finished, she put the trophy in a bag and routinely went through Natanis' lair for some interesting loot. She found nothing really useful in the chests, nor in the large wardrobe opposite the bed of generous proportions.

Looking up, she took a few minutes to look at the strange patchwork on one of the walls. She had already dealt with one succubus before and she had seen the same thing: pinned on the wall were spread various elements pilfered to lovers, it was said the ones who had the most satisfied her.

Thus she saw various hats, silk scarves, caps, gloves...

Moira approached and picked up one glove in particular: black, without fingers, ornamented by a motif of Ouroboros. She recognized it right away.

"Oh, Regis, dirty boy ..." she laughs nervously.

Her nervousness was not due to the discovery that he had been a partner of the succubus, he had necessarily had a life before her and that just surprised her to have fallen on one of them. No, what was bothering her right now was what she was going to tell him.

_Sorry, I accidentally killed your former lover. Before cutting off her head in exchange for a strong reward._

She winced and rested the glove. What was done was done and she didn't feel remorse for it, she had just done her witcher’s work as usual. But she must admit that the situation was still unusual and she took the time to bury the body of the succubus outside, instead of leaving it to rot as she would have done in another situation. A few hours later, after collecting her reward, she returned to bury the head and left the place for the last time.

 

Telling Regis the death of Natanis was exactly as she expected, unpleasant for one as for the other. But Regis was a pragmatic person and did not seem angry but saddened. His eyes lowered, he announced in a weary voice that he regretted not having had the opportunity to speak with the witcheress before, to change her mind and thus save a life.

The next morning Regis and Moira were ready to leave Corvo Bianco. Having no specific plans for the future, she decided to accompany him to Nazair. He had been strangely unhappy when she had told him this news, which had left her surprised. After reflection, Moira could guess why, as every time it concerned Dettlaff he had always refrained from joining her in his plans. She had even wondered if they... but had chased that idea out of her mind. Regis had always been considerate of her and she knew he was sincere, so why speculate unnecessarily.

In front of the house, they greeted their hosts and the last guests who had not left yet. Moira willingly hugged Ciri before greeting Eskel and Lambert.

"Well, in the end, we didn’t have the opportunity to fight. But we all already know the winner… “

"This is only a postponement Lambert, I intend to come back to greet you and I hope that you will all be there at this time. "

"Lambert practically lives here so there is a good chance you’ll found him.” Added Geralt. "We'll be glad to see you again, Moira. Take care and come back whenever you want. "

The farewells came to an end, Regis and Moira went out to get their mounts and set off. But just out of the estate he stopped, dismounted and asked Moira to do the same.

"What is it, Regis? "

"I know you want to go with me to Nazair. But this is not the right moment. " She looked at him apprehensively and answered in a small voice:

"Why don’ you want me there? Is it because of Dettlaff? If you prefer that I stay away from him it's not a problem I ... "

"None of this Moira. Actually, I share what you told me yesterday and I wish to spend more time with you. Regarding Dettlaff it will be up to both of you to decide if you want to know each other, not to me. No, I would be glad to see you there later, but there is something I have to tell you first."

"It sounds very mysterious, so what would be so important to delay my coming? "

So, Regis began his explanations. To be honest he would have preferred not to have to, especially after the night before that had particularly tightened their bond.

But he owed it, and he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1): this cutscene is narrated in the fiction "The Giant Bat way" if you want to read it. (warning: smut):


	18. Market day

_Dillingen, Brugge kingdom, a few months ago_

 

Perfect. Today is market day in this city and it will make my job easier. Glancing through the curtain of the window I can see the direction in which she left and I quickly go down to the street.

In my hurry, I almost miss to fold the hood of my long cloak and correct my mistake.

Have I lost her track? ... No, I see her down the main street and I start to follow her, staying at a decent distance and looking from time to time at some stall that lined up on either side of the street. But I actually don't give a damn about those stalls. If I came here it is only to give her some explanations. But will she forgive me? I sniffle and resume my walk, slowly. It doesn't matter, let's start from the beginning and after that, who knows what could happen?

When I see her stop I do the same and look absently at few potteries more or less successful - less than more in my opinion – on a random stall while glancing discreetly. She has lifted her hood and I restrain myself from looking at her too ostensibly. Her face had changed little, even since all this time, the same as in my memories. The same that I used to represent in my sketches.

Intrigued by her, I do not fail to notice her radiant smile when she greets the man in front of her. I know well this particular smile, it is the one she used to give only to me. Well, at least before I left her cowardly of course.

Which brings me to finally consider the man. Tall, greying hair, he has mutton chops under his high cheekbones. And…

For a fraction of a second, I feel like he has looked up in my direction. I immediately seize at random a very ugly pottery- I do not even know what type of container it was supposed to be- and ask the salesperson for the price. I do not really listen to what she is saying to me and look back at both of them. When I see this stranger leaning over my ... on Moira and kissing her tenderly I can not help but grit my teeth, in a seemingly not discreet way at all because the salesgirl in front of me says:

"Don’t make that face ... Come on, 10 crowns, this is my last prize. Is it okay for you, cutie? "

For the first time, I pay attention to her. Like many women of this status and at this middle age, she has thickened waist and dull hair. She gives me a look that I guess is supposed to be seductive but the effect is rather missed. Nothing to do with the cat eyes framed by chestnut hair...

"10 crowns, all right.” I hear myself say. I hurry to pay but when I turn, Moira and the unknown

man have disappeared. Muttering to myself I'm leaving too, cluttered by my new compulsive purchase.

The next day I go back to looking for her again. I slept badly and I thought that a night of sleep would help me to see more clearly, but I was wrong. It hurts me to say it but I saw how her face changed when she saw the man ... her companion? She was so bright, was it a good decision to come here? What gives me the right to suddenly intrude in her life?

I spot her discussing with the blacksmith of the city, then leave. I follow her like the day before and after a while, she turns on the left, under a porch. When I get to this place I only have time to raise my eyes to see her disappear behind a wooden door on the floor of the stone house.

Returning to my steps I read the sign hanging on the porch:

_Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, barber-surgeon of Dillingen._

"Are you sick? You're in the right place, the doctor certainly knows his business and he's a good man, I assure you.” I hear a woman beside me, supporting her husband who was walking with difficulty on a crutch.

"Oh yeah, are you really sure? Yet I saw a witcher roam on his side ... Not the most recommendable people.” I throw them to know more, keeping my head low and my hood down in front of my face.

"Oh, you mean the she-one, Moira? Not a bad girl it seems. But witchers are so secretive you never know what they could think. That's the doctor's mate you know? At first, we wondered why she regularly came back here but we finally understood... "

"Meredith, stop gossiping," her husband gently scolds her, as he is leaning on this crutch to take his breath, taking advantage of this stop.

"Why, I'm not saying anything wrong, right? By the way, it has last for a long time now and she seems to benefit our barber-surgeon. In my opinion, he looks better, like if he was being younger little by little if such a thing could happen! In any case, he has not aged at all. Isn't right, Robert? "

The fat man is going to open his mouth to answer but the blabbermouth resumes her chat:

"I wonder if they'll get married some day. He’s a respectable man and at his age, it would certainly be more suitable for him. Do you think witchers can get married? " "Of course, they can.” I let go, a little harder than I wanted.

"Mmmh. Well, to go back to what I said first, if you need someone to fix your bones or to get rid of some crappy germ you can go to him without hesitation. Have a nice day sir. "

 

Today I finally find the courage to go see Moira. On the last few days, I spent most of my time dwelling on alone in my room, lying on my bed and staring at the hideous pottery I had placed in the only possible place: prominently on my bedside table. I refrained from spying on her as I had done before and I almost succeed, but I did not hesitate to do it with this "Regis". I try not to pronounce this name with anger, the man has nothing to do with my initial plan, but that is not so simple.

That morning I got up and got ready, perhaps spending a little more time on how I look than usual and I went out. Without a hitch, I headed straight for the barber surgeon's home ... and Moira’s. I hope he will not be here when I'll knock on the door. Apparently, it’s my lucky day because on the way I cross him, who was walking in the opposite direction. A few meters away I see him look at me and smile with a small, closed one. And I want to stop this smile but I hold it back and cordially greet him instead.

"Good morning to you too,” he answers me as I walk by him.

At the same time, I feel him catch my wrist and hold me back. Stopping, I look at him with surprise, his grip is surprisingly strong for the slender middle age man he is.

"Don't be in such a hurry Aran, please. May I ask you a few minutes of your time? "

I nod before following him. It seems that I was not as discreet as I thought, or the man is remarkably observant. More than Moira, whose keen sense of observation had never been her greatest skill.

"If we were in a different context, I would have heartily asked you why you came here in our dear city and would have liked to ask if you enjoyed your stay. But I think we can dispense with these trivialities. "

His tone doesn't lack courtesy but I'm not fooled and I feel the tension between us. However, I agree with him, I did not come here to do tourism or to befriend the locals.

"Indeed. If you know who I am, you already know why, or rather who I came for. "

"What are your intents? "

"First, giving her some explanations. Something I should have done many years ago- "

"Yes, you should have. Don't you think it's precisely too late? Be aware that when Moira talks about you, even if it's something she has not done for a long time now, her pain is definitely still noticeable. Is it really for her that you want to do this or rather in order to ease your own conscience? "

I wince at these words. I don't need to hear them, I have already asked myself this question more than once...Standing straight, hand always tightening the shoulder strap of his bag he approaches quietly until being only a step from me.

"If you really want to see her I'm not going to stop you. But let me tell you that if you seek to manipulate or harm her, I could reveal a much lesser cordial side of my personality. "

What is this guy trying to prove with that tone? Does he really think he can scare me? But the harm is done and these few words end to make me doubt. Do I have the right to intrude on her life after so many years of silence, just because I want it? I should give her the choice, at least.

I grab a sheet of paper and a charcoal pen I use for my sketches and I note a few words before giving it to him.

"I will not impose myself. There is where I stay and where she can very likely find me. Give it to her and she will decide herself. If she wants to see me again. "

I turn away without greeting him and go out of the alley. It is a great risk to have entrusted this information to him, who knows if he will not just throw the note in the first bin? I do not know but something tells me he will not do this, it's stupid but I am convinced of it.

This time, it's my turn to wait.

* * *

 

"I hope you understand my choice to not have informed you sooner, Moira. It did not seem necessary to reopen old wounds that seemed healed. But after the, mmh, recent events I realized it was amoral to keep this information for me longer. "

The witcher fiddled with the corners of the note, staring at it. After a moment she put it in her bag and grabbed Regis' hands in hers.

"Not only I understand, but I thank you for having waited. After last night I feel better, even more sure of us.” She began in a low voice, meeting his eyes. This time she did not look away and continued:

"I'll go. Not for him, but for me. First, because I think I deserve to know, and also in order to definitively close this story, but whatever he could tell me, that will not change my mind. You are the one I love and I'll join you as soon as I'm done with this. "

She wanted to add a joke about the fact that her spoken Nilfgaardian was a little rusty and that she would have to practice it before joining him, but at the same time she seemed to notice a hint of doubt in his eyes.

He deemed useless to express his fears to her and kept them to himself. But by how he hugged her before kissing her nervously as if he was doubting there would be other opportunities later, she suspected it anyway and could not help but share his nervousness.

After having greeted each other, they took different paths.

As initially planned, Regis left for Nazair and left behind the estate of Corvo Bianco. Alone.

 

* * *

**Epilogue**

 

_Somewhere in a pleasant coastal city_

As usual, the Vaaln’s weekly market was undergoing excitement. In the different areas, the local merchants of Nazair but also nomads coming from much further were side by side, animating their stalls. Some specific parts were noisier than others, like the food market where the powerful voices of merchants selling their products, meats, fishes, vegetables, were almost covered by those of women haggling every single coin.

Not far from there, the part dedicated to herbalism was way quieter. It must be said that the customers were quite different. There were thus more educated people, often of a higher status. At that time, a certain barber-surgeon named Emiel Regis was discussing different varieties of sage with one of the merchants. The bag the man was carrying was already full of different plant species that together gave off a powerful scent.

"Give me two bouquets, please. "

"And add 100 grams of linden flowers to infuse please,” added a woman's voice beside him, a little behind.

Regis did not have to turn his head to recognize the one who had just spoken. Holding back from smiling widely, he could definitely not reveal his fangs in the presence of such a crowd, he settled for his usual half-closed smile and turned his head.

Moira had not this problem and wasn’t restraining herself to smile from one ear to another.

"Hello, my dear Regis. "

"Hello, my dear Moira. "


	19. In the forest (alternative ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter directly takes place just after chapter 18 "Sauvignon Blanc" and offer an alternative ending.  
> In chap 18, Regis drank some blood and asked her permission to drink more of it.  
> In this one, Moira will give a different answer, with its impacts.  
> Warning: graphic depictions of violence + Major character death.

"Yes, why not," said Moira after a moment of consideration.

A wide smile was born on Regis's face from ear to ear, frankly revealing his sharp teeth. Moira, who was still doubting her decision, was distracted and delighted at this view.

_He looks like a child on Christmas morning, in front of his presents._

Regis sat down next to her, grabbed her chin and turned her head quite roughly so she let out an annoyed sound of her tongue. He apologized and, in a much gentler way, buried his face in her neck and drank once again.

The witcheress focused on her own state, she wanted to be alert to any sign of weakness and know when to ask Regis to stop. Soon her head started spinning again and it had nothing to do with dancing this time. Her ears were buzzing and she felt her heart racing in her chest.

"I think that's enough Regis, stop now, please. "

No response from her mate. She grabbed his shoulders and gently pushed him away, then more frankly at his lack of reaction. He ends up backing up grumbling before saying:

"What nonsense to have deprived myself of this all these years, it's so good and you're so luscious Moira ..."

She noticed the lewd tone on which he had said these last words and the impression was confirmed when he leaned over her and kissed her passionately. Somewhat weakened, she could not support the weight of his body. He was leaning on her without restraint, and she fell down backwards.

Fortunately, she was sitting and the grass was thick enough to cushion her fall. But Regis did not seem to care at all about this concern at that moment and let out a chuckle when he found himself half lying on Moira, having also rocked, losing his balance.

"To hell that dress and privacy," he growled after having conscientiously licked her neck in search of the last droplets of blood, but there was already no more. He lowered one of his hands down her dress to the level of the hips and let his claws grow to cut the garment into pieces.

Unfortunately, he was too optimist about control of his body in regard to his drunkenness and the claws cut not only the fabric but also the flesh underneath.

Moira, who up until now let more or less loose in this euphoria, letting herself being aroused with hands wandering over his body, contracted with the pain that was like a cold shower. A first stream of adrenaline ran through her body, uncomfortable but it brought her back to reality and she unceremoniously pushed Regis's hand, angry.

"That's enough! Calm down, “she said, still holding his wrist with a trembling hand.

He raised his head to meet her eyes and she expected to see remorse and worry on them. But she saw nothing of it, under the powerful and intoxicating effect of blood consumption the vampire seemed rather upset to be interrupted in the pursuit of his own pleasure.

"Let's go back,” she said more gently, as she finally let go of his wrist to stroke his cheek.

Her tender gesture did not succeed in softening the mood of her mate who thrust his fangs in her flesh for the third time, this time without any tenderness and without any form of consent.

After the shock, the fear invaded her, making her heart beat even faster than it already did and pushing her to react. With both hands, she put them against him and pushed him back as hard as she could, but that was quite inefficient in view of her current strength which was fading with every sip she heard him swallow greedily.

 _If I stay there, I'm dead_ , through her mind, the usual thought when your profession is to slay mortal monsters.

The romantic evening with her dear partner was definitely over. Now she was facing a dangerous threat - a vampire, and the priority was at first to flee. Recovering her defence reflexes, she used her last strengths:

-First, gave him a violent blow to the crotch, which had the effect of making him stop drinking and withdraw a little from her under the effect of pain. Vampire or not, he was still a male.

-Then, taking advantage of the small opening thus created she passed her hand between their chest and used an Aard sign.

The sign, though less powerful than the ones she was usually capable of, was enough, however, to push the drunk and fuzzy vampire and let him fall on his side. Listening only to her survival instinct, Moira barely got up and started running, barefooted and her dress torn wide in the front.

She ran without looking at the direction, all that mattered at that moment was to put distance between her and the blood-sucker. Despite her shrinking vision range and the feeling of seeing the world in duplicate at every moment, she managed to get away, without knowing how exactly.

 

When she opened her eyes, Moira did not understand where she was. Why was she in a forest, whereas just a few moments before it seemed like she was at a party ... or in her bed? Why then did her bed seem so cool in her back and why was she hearing a sound of water nearby?

Disoriented, she closed her eyes and tried to slow her quick breath, a direct result of her low blood volume. Her neck ached badly, much more than her wounded belly. In addition to the heart that seemed to beat directly in her ears, she heard a distant and indefinable sound.

When she felt better enough, she straightened up with difficulty and her vision filled with black stars as a buzz filled her head. When it calmed, she looked at her own body. The beautiful black silk dress was nothing but a ruin, slashed on the front. On the bare skin of her belly, she could see deep cuts from which the blood had flowed.

Snippets of memory came back to her. Regis and she at the top of the little hill, both drinking - not the same one. His... aggression, because that's what it was, and how he feasted on her blood.

She more or less remembered how she escaped and finally stopped after having sunk deeper and deeper into the forest.

She remembered thinking she was safe, before hearing a sound of flapping wings - very wide wings, close to her.

Then nothing.

The unknown sound was heard again, like a kind of groan. Leaning on her flailing arms, Moira pulled her knees under her and tried to get up, but she lacked strength and collapsed heavily on the forest floor, flat on her stomach.

The witcheress turned her head and could see the source of the noise. Or rather, she first saw shadows moving in the distance between the trees. That sound, it was … Necrophages.

 _Get out of there Moira_ , she thought as a new stream of adrenaline ran through her.

She tried to get up again and this time she succeeded, but once she was up she had no choice but to stand up against a tree so as not to fall back.

The grunts of the creatures were a little closer but still far enough according to her, luckily there was still time. Letting go of the trunk she took a step and then another. She had no choice but to stop when a violent and uncontrollable nausea took her and she vomited copiously. She placed a hand on her spasming stomach.

The necrophages were getting closer and closer, barely fifteen feet from her at that moment. Moira did the best to keep cool, even though the situation was definitely far from ideal: critical vitality, no sword or any weapon to use, completely alone in a forest ... she didn't even know where exactly.

If she could start running now, she still had a chance to escape the monsters. Which side? When she had fled into the forest she had not paid attention to the direction taken, too busy with her only thought of the moment: to flee by any means the vampire overwhelmed by uncontrollable blood lust.

 _Why flee?_ a sweet voice whispered in her mind. _Why so much effort to survive? To regain your useless shitty lifestyle?_

She shook her head, refusing to listen and began to run, followed by the necrophages who did the same and she could now hear the footsteps crushing the young ferns and twigs in their path.

_Naessa is dead. Aiden too. Hannah and Hermann too. Aran does not even care about you. Just like your dear Regis. It would be so easier to just stop there …_

_No, I have to continue. I have to move on._

Which she did by hastening as much as possible, moving away from the creatures behind her.

 

At the Corvo Bianco estate, the festivities were slowly ending in a quieter atmosphere. Most of the guests had already gone to bed and some had not managed to reach their room, like Zoltan and Dandelion lying on the floor and sleeping like babies in front of a small campfire.

Geralt shook his head at their sight before continuing to walk behind the two women moving side by side. A happy smile appeared on his face as Ciri paused, turned to look at him and pulled away from Yennefer. The witcher stepped forward and stood between them, offering one arm to each woman and all three resumed their walk to the small hill overlooking the estate- their home.

Once at the top, Geralt noticed that they were not the first to have this idea. He spotted a half empty bottle of white wine and two spilt glasses. Besides, two pairs of discarded shoes awaited the return of their owners.

"Hey, someone has forgotten their little things," the sorceress noted mockingly.

"These are Moira's shoes, the ones lent by Triss. And by deduction, I suppose the other pair  must belong to Regis.”

Geralt had stayed a little behind her and during that time swept the scene with his sharp sight.

"What are you looking for?” Yennefer asked.

"Something is bothering me. Where did they go? It's been hours since they left the party. "

"Come on Geralt, do not you have a little idea? I guess their shoes are not the only clothes that we might find abandoned if we continue. Let's go back to the estate, I don’t really wish to catch them in some bushes."

"No, Geralt is right ... come and see.” Ciri added, squatting a little further and observing something on the ground.

The witcher joined her and saw the bloodstain. A bad feeling took him and, using his witcher senses, he continued to inspect the surroundings and found shreds of black silk in the thick green grass. He showed the piece of cloth to the two women.

"It's the dress I lent to Moira. The second I had proposed to Ciri for tonight's evening. "

"You two, come back. I’ll take care of that. "

"I'm coming with you, Geralt, I ..." began Ciri, whose young face started to look worried.

He refused her protests. At this moment he had a hypothesis about what had happened ... and that assumption did not please him, not at all. He was the closest to Regis here and the one who knew him best, he did not want other people to be involved in the case he had guessed right.

A few minutes later Geralt was back, alone, armed with his armour and two swords. He had also taken some potions, as a precaution, he also included a black blood one.

Then, the usual tracking began. Around the bloodstain, he could see that the grass was flattened as if people had been lying on it. He spotted slight footprints of bare feet, those of a woman, going to the forest. Drops of fresh blood accompanied the steps and facilitated the tracking. He noticed a second series of footprints, bigger, but this series stopped quickly as if the person had vanished in the middle of his walking.

Geralt went back up the first track, sinking into the forest. The blood drops were less and less numerous, but he saw broken low branches as well as young crushed ferns, obviously, the runaway had kept moving with difficulty. At one point he spotted another bloodstain on the spongy moss that covered the forest ground, as well as other shreds of black silk. A little farther it was the turn of a puddle of vomit near a tree, very fresh from the pungent odor.

He felt he was getting closer to the goal.

A few meters away he saw a charred necrophage body and finally came across Moira.

 

The heat was already stifling in the duchy of Toussaint, perhaps even more than the day before. Heavy black clouds began to appear on the horizon, announcing a developing storm which would eventually burst and cool the air, perhaps even the same evening.

But for the moment there was no cloud in the sky above the Corvo Bianco estate. Only some smoke rose, coming from a large fire a dozen meters away. Around the fire stood the witchers as well as some of the other guests who were present the night before at the fabulous birthday party.

Their faces, however, were far less cheerful, even grim.

Ciri was staring at the flames while nervously fiddling with a cat head shaped medallion. The medallion of a new friend that she had had too little time to get to know her better, and that she would never know more. When the last embers of the fire went out they went off without a word.

Lambert was the first to break the deafening silence, saying furiously:

"Where did this blood sucker bastard go? Do you have any idea Geralt?"

"Forget that, Lambert. First, I have not the slightest idea. Secondly, Regis is not the one who killed Moira, the necrophages did. "

The black haired witcher snorted with disdain.

"Oh, really? And why could not she defend herself against three necrophages? Even without a sword, she should have been able to escape. So why huh? Because she was almost empty of blood at that moment. If he has nothing to hide, why did this monster run away? "

"Shut up, Lambert, just shut up now.”

He was affected too by the death of the witcheress, whose body he had finally found the day before, and the fact that his old friend was involved made the situation even more delicate.

He had himself examined the body on the forest floor. He was used to seeing corpses, but seeing someone you know personally, someone you started to appreciate remained a not easy thing. Especially when the face of said person was half devoured by necrophages, transformed into a hideous mask of flesh torn off.

Strangely, Moira's corpse was not bathed in her own blood, which it should have, however, after being bitten to death by the monsters. He had continued his analysis and noted in addition to the necrophagous bites very sharp cuts on her side and marks in her neck, all fresh. Fang marks.

_Oh no, Regis …_

Around the body, the corpses of the necrophages were lying. Or rather their different parts, the creatures seemed to have been sliced in a clear-cut way. The trees who had the misfortune to be there had also taken hits, bluntly shredded.

The pieces of the puzzle had matched in Geralt's mind. It must be said that this was not the first time he was dealing with an enraged higher vampire. He had deduced that Moira, weakened by the lack of blood after being bitten by Regis, had fled with difficulty. After that, it seemed that she still had the strength to burn one necrophage with the Igni sign, before passing away to others.

Then he had guessed that the vampire had found her track and had dealt with the necrophages. But he had arrived too late and, in his rage, had shredded them before doing the same to the trees, passing his fury on them.

But after that, not a single hint of Regis’ presence could be found.

* * *

 

 The child pushed back the blanket and got out of bed, his eyes still full of sleep. He rubbed them before going down the stairs and out of the house.

 _I should not have drunk so much before going to bed_ , he thought as his bladder throbbed him, which had pulled him out of his peaceful sleep.

He crossed the farmyard, silent at this late hour of the night. After doing his business behind a tree he mechanically came back, walking near the barn when he heard a noise, a strange hiss coming from the building. The young farmer stopped, listened, and heard the sound again. He was wrong about his first statement, it sounded more like a whining person than an animal.

The boy started to worry, there was definitely someone in the barn. What should he do, wake up his father or going to dislodge the vagabond himself? Straightening, he chose the second solution.

He was soon to be eleven years old and was almost a man, old enough to handle this alone.

When he pushed the door he could barely see anything, the barn being plunged into a semidarkness. The vagabond seemed to notice him because his sound stopped. The boy identified the position of the stranger in the bottom right of the barn. He grabbed an oil lamp and lit it.

"Who is there?” he tried to say as confidently as he could.

Nobody answered and he walked towards the man. At first, his eyes widened in astonishment.

Then he opened his mouth to scream, a stream of pure panic invading him at the sight of the thing in front of him. But he did not have time to emit a single sound. The creature jumped on him and slammed him to the ground, his broad clawed hand pressed against his mouth. If the boy had not pissed two minutes ago he would most likely have wet his pants in fear at that moment. His heart beating wildly, he could not take his eyes off the giant bat bent over him, especially off his many sharp fangs protruding from his mouth, red-tinged.

 _A vampire! My God no, have mercy please!_ he tried to shout but he could only emit muffled sounds.

The creature’s big black eyes gazed him and the boy expected that from one second to another it would tear his throat. Yet the seconds passed and the vampire did nothing. Finally leaving the sight of his fangs the boy looked up and noticed that the black, almost bald skin under his wide eyes was wet.

Did it cry? he stupidly thought. What a silly idea, as if monsters were endowed with feelings! The abomination holds his gaze and finally talked to him in a strange low voice.

"You will close your eyes, young man. You'll reopen them in five seconds and I'll be gone, all this will have been just a bad dream. "

The boy felt strangely calm, nodded his head and closed his eyes as hard as he could. A soon as he did it than he felt the pressure on his face loosen and heard noises of flapping wings, very wide wings, accompanied by a breath of air around him.

As a simple young farmer, he obviously didn’t know how to count, and he finally opened his eyes again after waiting a reasonable amount of time. He was alone in the barn, which was again plunged into darkness, the oil lamp turning off after his fall.

Had he dreamed? Nothing around him could testify of his strange memories. Scratching his head, he finally picked up and stored the lamp, before heading back to bed.

Once outside, if he had thought of looking up at the starry sky, he might have seen the silhouette of a big humanoid bat to the east. He might have seen it beat the air of its large membranous wings, beats which one by one brought them closer to its destination.

As he had intended, Regis left for Nazair to find his blood brother and leave behind the estate of Corvo Bianco. Alone.

But this time, he would be the one needing care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You enjoyed it? Don't leave without a comment, these are highly appreciated. ;)


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